Sdenti^ FictUmJoy:
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/ Neil R. Jones
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Miles J. Brewer, M.D.
mm.
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LUX-VISEL, INC.
Dept. E-380 Elkhart. Indiana
May, 1932
FORREST J. ACKERMAN
SCIENTIFICTIONIST
530 STAPLES AVENUE
San Francisco, California, U. S. A
97
/ yn 4 i Francisco, California, U. S. A.
I Couldn t me
Good Things of Life”
Always outside of things-^
that’s where J was just
twelve short months ago, I
just didn’t have the cash^
that was all No theatres,
no parties, no good restgu^
rants. , No real enjoym^t __
of life. 1 was just getting
by, just existing. What a —
difference today! I drive -:=z:
my own car, have a good
bank account, enjoy all the
amusements I please.
Then I Quit My Job and “Found” Myself!
H OW does a man go about making more
money? If I asked myself that question
once, I asked it a hundred times!
I know the answer noAV. I know the way
good money is made, and I’m making it. Gone
forever are the days of ch^p shoes, cheap
clothes, walking home to save carfare. I own
a Radio store, and I get almost all the Radio
service and repair work in town. The other
Radio dealers send th^ir hard jobs to me, so you
can see how I stand in my line.
But — it’s just a year ago that I vras a poorly
paid worker. I was struggling along on a star-
vation salary until by accident my eyes were
opened and I saw just what was the matter with
me. Here’s how it happened:
I had just popped the question, and Louise
said, "Yes!”
Louise wanted to go in and tell her father
about it right aw'ay, so we did. He sort of
grunted when we told him the news, and asked
Louise to leave us alone.
“So you and Louise have decided to get mar-
ried,” he said to me when we were alone. “Well,
Bill, just listen to me. I’ve watched you often
here at the house with Louise and I think you
are a pretty good, upstanding young fellow. But
let me ask you just one question — how much
do you make?”
“Twenty-two a week,” I told him.
He didn’t say a word — just wrote it down on
a piece of paper.
“Have you any prospects of a better job or
a good raise some time soon?” he asked.
“No, sir; I can’t honestly say that I have,”
I admitted. “I’m looking for something better
all the time, though.”
“Looking, eh? How do you go about it?”
Well, that question stopped me.
How did I? I was willing to take a better
job if I saw the chance all right, but I cer-
tainly had laid no plans to make such a job for
n^self. When he saw my confusion he grunted.
“I thought so,” he said. Then he held up
some figures he’d been scribbling at.
“I’ve just been figuring out your family
budget. Bill, for a salary of twenty-two a week.
I figure you can afford a very small unfurnished
apartment, make your payments on enough plain,
inexpensive furniture to fix such an apartment
up, pay your electricity, gas, and water bills,
buy just about one modest outfit of clothes for
both of you once each year. But save_ nothing
for sickness, insurance, and emergencies, and
you can’t eat. And you’ll have to go without
Some of the Jobs N. R. I.
Trains Men For
Broadcast Eneincet
Maintenance Man in
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of Broadcast Ap-
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Operator in Broadcast
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ator
Operator of Airway
Beacons
Service Man on Sound
Picture Apparatus
Operator of Soynd
Picture Apparatus
Ship Operator
Service Man on Pub-
lic Address Systems
Installation Engineer
tm Public Address
Systems
Sales Manager for
Retail Stores
Service Manager for
Retail Stores
Auto Radio Installa-
tion and Service
Man
Television Broadcast
Operator
Set Servicing Expert
amusements until you can get a good, substan-
tial raise in salary.”
I began to turn red as fire.
“That budget isn’t so good, after all,” he said,
f lancing at me; “maybe another one will sound
ettcr ”
“That’s enough, Mr. Sullivan,” I said. “Have
a heart. I can see things pretty clearly now.
I>t me go home and think this over.”
A Coupon Brought Me Facts
I Needed
At home I turned the problem over and over
in my mind. Everything Mr. Sullivan had said
was gospel truth. 1 couldn’t see anything to
Some of the
Radio Firms
That Have Hired N. R. I.
Men
Atwater-Kent
Stewart-Wamer Cojp«
American Bosch
Strombcrg-Carlson
Brunswlck-Balke-
Mfg. Co.
Collender Co.
U. S. Army
Crosley Radio Coro.
City of Akron (Police
U. S. Navy
U. S. Naval Research
Dept. )
Lab.
DeForest Radio Co.
U. S. Coa.st Guard
F. A. D. Andrea Co.
U. S. Dept, of Com-
General Electric Wg.
merce
Co.
Westinghouse Electric
Origsby-Grunow Co.
Co.
Roister
Western Electric Co.
Montgomery Ward &
Zenith Radio Corp.
Co.
American Tel. & Tel.
National Broadcasting
Co,
(k).
Thomas A. Edison.
Pan-American Air-
Inc.
ways
Pacific Air Transport
Paramount Sound
Broadcasting Stations :
Philco-Phila. Storage
WRC WSIX
Battery Co.
KSL WUAD
Radio Corp. of Amer-
PWX WLW
ica
WMAQ WENR
Radio Corp. of China
WJAX WFJB
Sears, Roebuck & Co.
WBOW WKJO
Sinclair Navigation
WOL WRNY
Co:
WCBD WAAM
Silver-Marshall. Iqc.
KMOX WeSH
Sparton
RWWG WGBI
any way to turn. But I had to have more money.
I began to thumb the pages of a magazine
which lay on the table beside me. Suddenly an
advertisement seemed almost to leap out at my
eyes, an advertisement telling of opportunities
for trained men to succeed m the great new
I^dio field. With the advertisement^ was a cou-
f n offering a big free book full of information.
sent the coupon in, and in a few days received
a handsome 64-page book, telling all about the
opportunities in^ the Radio field and how a man
can prepare quickly and easily at home to take
advantage of these opportunities. I ^ read the
book carefully, and when I finished it I ma.de
my decision.
Now I Own My Own Radio
Business
What’s happened in the twelve months since
that day • seems almost like a dream to me now.
For eight of those twelve months I’ve had a
Radio business of my ownl At first, of course,
I started it as a little proposition on the side,
under the guidance of the National Radio Insti-
tute, the institution that gave me my Radio train-
ing. It wasn’t long before I was getting so
much to do in the Radio line that I quit my
measly little clerical job and devoted roy full
time to my Radio business.
Since that time I’ve gone right on up, always
under the watchful guidance of my friends at
the National Radio Institute. They would have
given me just as much help, too, if I had
wanted to follow some other line of Radio be-
sides building ray own retail business, such as
broadcasting, manufacturing, experimenting, sea
operating, talking mqvies, operating and servic-
ing, automobile Radio, aircraft Radio work, or
any one of the score of lines they prepare you
for. And to think that until that day I sent
for their, eye-opening book I’d been wailing, “I
never had a chancel”
Now I’m making real money. Louise and I
have been married six months, and there wasn’t
any kidding about budgets by Mr, Sullivan
when we stepped off, either.
Real Opportunities for You
in Radio
You may not be as bad off as I was. But,
think it over — are you satisfied? Would you
sign a contract to stay where you are now for
the next ten years, making the same money?
If not, you’d better be doing something a^ut it
instead of drifting.
This new Radio game is a live-wire field of
golden rewards. The work, in any of the many
different lines of Radio, is fascinating, absorb-
ing, well paid. The National Ra'dio Institute —
pioneer and largest Radio home-study school in
the world — will train you inexpensively in your
own home to know Radio from A to Z and to
increase your earnings in the Radio field.
Mail Coupon Now
Take another tip — no matter what your plans
are, no matter how much or how little you know
about Radio — clip the coupon below and look
their free book over. It is filled with interest-
ing facts, figures, and photos, and the informa-
tion it will give you is worth a few minutes of
anybody’s time. You will place yourself under
no obligation — the book is free and is gladly sent
to anyone who wants to know about Radio, Just
address J. E. Smith, President, National Radio
Institute, Dept. 2ES, Washington, D. C.
i. E. SMITH. President
National Radio Institute
Dept. 2ES, Washington, D. C.
Dear Mr. Smith:
Please send me your 64-page free book, giv-
ing Information about thO AXiportunlties in Ra-
dio and how I can learn quickly and easily
at home to take advantage of them. 1 under-
stand this request places me under no obliga-
tion, ' and that no salesman will call on me.
Name Ane
Address.
City S-tate,
JULES VERNE’S TOMBSTONE AT AMfENS
PORTRAYING HIS IMMORTALITY
Amazing Stories
Scientific Fiction
yol. 7 May, 1932 No. 2
I
\n 0«r \ssue
MASTERS OF THE EARTH, by John Edwards.
The idea of interstellar travel, or for that matter,
the idea that the moon might be inhabited by some
form of intelligent life, does not seem altogether
far-fetched any more. Although both are possi-
bilities that may not be confirmed for many a
long year, speculations about the scientific aspects
of these ideas go on apace. Here is an especially
interesting story by an author in H. G. Wells’
country that is entirely new and extremely well
written.
\n F)ur }s/[ay \ssue
The Metal Doom
{A Serial in three parts) Part I
By David H. Keller, M.D 104
Illustrated by Morey
The Return of the Tripeds
By Neil R. Jones 120
Illustrated by Morey
POLITICS, by Murray Leinster. Politics is the
all-pervading topic of conversation nowadays, no
matter how you look at it. But Murray Leinster,
about whose stories we need to say nothing to
readers of Amazing Stories, interests himself only
with the purely scientific possibilities of the future
of politics in the realm of . . . but why tell you
more? Mr. Leinster’s tale is very vivid and con-
vincing.
The Perfect Planet
By Miles J. Brimir, M.D 136
Illustrated by Morey
The Lemurian Documents
No. 3: Daedalus and Icarus
By J. Leivis Burtt ,. 144
Illustrated by Morey
A MATTER OF NERVES, by William Lemkin,
Ph.D. Of course, the effects produced by the
doctor-scientist of this story are not entirely sat-
isfactory, but that’s because the doctor’s motive
was not altruistic. We can think of several ways
in which this “reversal” invention could be ap-
plied to excellent advantage and you will prob-
ably think of many more when you finish reading
“A Matter of Nerves.”
The Caves of Pele
By James M. Corbett 152
Illustrated by Morey
Worlds Adrift
By Stephen G. Hale , 158
Illustrated by Morey
THE LEMURIAN DOCUMENTS, by J. Lewis
Burtt. No. 4: Phaeton. Even in the ancient days,
apparently, interplanetary travel was thought of
and even tried. How, is effectively told in this
fourth of a series of modernized mythology
stories.
THE METAL DOOM, by David H. Keller, M.D.
It appears that only a small minority of our vast
population could adapt itself to such a revolution-
ary change as Dr. Keller depicts — which assump-
tion seems to us quite logical. How a thoroughly
modern person, practically born in this age of
miracles, will react in a sudden transition to a
second stone age, is graphically set forth in the
second instalment of this story.
And Other Unusual Scientific Fiction
The Doubt
By Ben Aronin.. 180
What Do You Know?
(Science Questionnaire) 184
Our Cover
this issue, depicts a dramatic scene from the story entitled,
“The Return of the Tripeds,” by Neil R. Jones, in which Pro-
fessor Jameson, now a metal man, is shown as the sole sur-
vivor of the battalion of Tripeds, who entered the dimension
of the uncanny, intelligent flying beings to avenge the whole-
sale homicide and suicide cases of the Tripeds and the metal
beings. Another plane is shown coming for the profe.ssor.
Cover Illustration by Morey
Published Monthly by Teck Publishing Corporation, Washington and South Avenues, Dunellen, N. J.
OFFICERS
Lee Ellmaker, President
Warren P. Jeffery
Huston D. Crippen j
William Thompson, Treasurer
Wesley F. Pape, Secretary
[Vice Presidents
EDITORIAL AND EXECUTIVE OFFICES
350 HUDSON STREET, NEW YORK CITY, N. Y.
Entered as second class matter at the Post Office at Dunellen,
N. J., uuder_ the act of March 3, 1879. Copyright, 1932, by
Teck Publishing Corporation, All rights reserved. Title Reg-
istered at the U. S. Patent Office. Printed in the United States of
America. The contents of this magazine must not be reproduced
without permission. We cannot be responsible for lost manu-
scripts, although every care is taken for their safety.
25c a Copy, $2.50 a year,
$3.00 in Canada, $3.50 in
Foreign Countries. Sub-
scribers are notified that
change of address must reach
us five weeks in advance of
the next date of issue.
98
May, 1932
AMAZING STORIES
99
$75 a Week
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immediately after
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Walter Hinton
Pint to fly the Atlan-
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years. Now giving am-
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WALTER HINTONp President
Aviation Institute of U. S. A., Inc.
1116 Connecticut Ave., Washington, D. G.
Walter Hinton, President,
Aviation Institnte of U. S. A., Inc.
1115 CoziAiecticnt Avenue, Washington, D« C«
675.M
Please send me a Free copy of your book, "Wings of Opportunity,*’
telling all about my opportunities in Aviation, how you will train
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100
AMAZING STORIES
May, 1932
LOOK
Easy as A*B*C
to learn music this way
J UST see how easy it is 1 The lines are
always E-G-B-D-F. Memorize the sen-
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The four spaces are always F-A-C-E. That
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You have learned something already 1
Isn’t it fun? You’ll just love learning music
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The surest way to popularity
Don’t be just “another one of the guests” at
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Send for our Free Book and
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Thirty-fourth Yoar (Established 1898)
U. S. SCHOOL OP MUSIC
86S Bronswick Buildin,:, Nev York Citr
Please send me your free book, “How You Can
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Instrument ?
Name
Address
City State
Pick Year Instrvmept
Plano
Orsan
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Cornet
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Voioe and Speech Culture
Harmony and Composition
Drums and Traps
Automatie Finger Control
Banjo (Plectrum. 5-String
or Tenor)
iunlors' Piano Course
May, 1932
AMAZING STORIES
101
“In all the years I have known of the Interna-
tional Correspondence Schools, I have seldom seen
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A business executive made this statement in a
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“However,” he said, “all I. C. S. graduates
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The reason I. C. S. men always have jobs is
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about the subject before ■which I have marked X:
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102
AMAZING STORIES
May, 1932
He Invented a Rupture Appliance
and was hailed ^^Benefactor
C. E. BROOKS, Inventor
of Mankind
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thirty-one years ago C. E. Brooks of Marshall,
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Others similarly afflicted, asked him to make
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Today the name of C. E. Brooks is known
and revered the world over. And to date more
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of all ages — anxious for similar results — have
purchased a Brooks Automatic Air-Cushion
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20 IMPORTANT FEATURES
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Of the twenty outstanding features of the Brooks Ap-
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to assist in relieving and curing reducible rupture. This
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13 foreign countries. The Brooks appliance can be
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Name
Address
T. O’CONOR SLOANE, Ph.D., Editor MIRIAM BOURNE, Managing Editor
Editorial and General Offices: 350 Hudson Street, New York, N, Y.
Extravagant Fiction Today
Cold Fact Tomorrow
The Nationality of Chemistry
By T. O’Conor Sloane, Ph.D
HE fact that Lavoisier and Priestiey were so close
together in their dates, as we may put it, caused
considerable discussion as to who was the origina-
tor and founder of modern chemistry. The French
unhesitatingly say that chemistry is a French science,
basing this point of view on the work of Lavoisier.
On the other hand, an effort has been made to say
that chemistry originated in America, because Joseph Priestley
emigrated to America in 1794 and did his original work in North-
umberland, Pa., where he was instrumental in doing away with
the ridiculous phlogiston theory. Northumberland is sacred to
American chemists as the birthplace of chemistry.
Priestley had his troubles. His religious views apparently dis-
pleased the English. Although England was his native country,
the mob broke into his house and wrecked his library. It
is very interesting to study out just how these two great chemists
went to work to determine the nature of oxygen and of oxides,
but of course there is no place here for such details. But when
the composition of the oxides of a metal was determined, then
it was ascertained beyond all question that elements combined
by weight, chemistry was absolutely established and born as a
science based on weight. Today, the nature of the atom is the
subject of investigation, and the readers of the daily papers
find interesting notes and descriptions of the work of the great
chemists in this line.
An interesting point to be brought out is that chemistry, at the
beginning of the last century, or_ better, a few decades later than
that period, was found for practical purposes to be a question of
weights and the chemist’s balance, weighing down to a fraction
of a milligram, was the chemist’s great instrument of investigation.
It was not long before use was made of these elementary
studies to determine that matter was made of combinations of
very few substances. It is perplexing to think that as far as
we know, everything in this world is made up of a few elements
— much of only two — which may be said to have been “selected”
from a total of 92. And some of these 92 are extremely scarce,
so that, as far as we know, the world could go very happil); on
its course, _ if a great proportion of these 92 elements were wiped
out of existence. It is a curious thought that we might ramble
around this great spheroid of ours and find that wherever we
picked up a stone or a bit of clay or earth, probably there
would be very few elements in them.
We talk of the sands of the seashore. _ These form the margin
of miles and miles of ocean, and in the incalculable millions and
millions of their grains, there would seem to be room for in-
numerable varieties of composition.
But is there?
Beach sand, as we understand it, and as we find it, on the
beaches of the ocean, is a compound of one atom of silicon and
two atoms of oxygen. Silicon is a dark substance, sometimes
a dark powder, sometimes a solid, very hard and black. Oxygen
is a gas which constitutes, roughly speaking, one-fifth of the
air, but make a chemical combination of these substances so that
an atom of silicon shall combine with two atoms of oxygen and
you get quartz, a very common mineral; the sands of the sea-
shore are themselves what we may term granulated quartz,
which by some means or other has been broken up into little
particles of nearly miiforra size. Then if we go in search of
beautiful crystals, we can get absolutely transparent and color-
less crystals from quartz all made up of the same two utterly
dissimilar elements.
We live by breathing oxygen. We certainly could not live by
breathing sand.
. We have selected quartz as an example of an inorganic com-
pound, a compound which has as a rule, with some slight excep-
tions, no relation to animal or vegetable life, but now let us step
across the line and see what organic compounds are. Here we
are brought face to face with an amazing variety of chemical
compounds now existing, and with possibilities of existence,
there are millions of organic compounds characterized in general
by the presence of carbon and hydrogen and a few other ele-
ments, depending on the substance, of course.
We all know what charcoal looks like; hydrogen, nitrogen and
oxygen are invisible gases ; combine them properly and you will
get the most superb colors, which have driven natural colors
from vegetable life out of the market. If we want to make a
poison, a minute portion of which will instantly kill a man. we
Will make it of these same elements ; the alkaloid strychnine is
a good example of one of the most virulent poisons known to
man. It is the chemical combination of these utterly innocent
gases_ with carbon, ■which latter we know as charcoal. If you
find it desirable to drop a terrible explosive in among a lot
of non-combatants in a city, combine your carbon, nitrogen,
oxygen and hydrogen properly and you will have trinitrotoluol
which^ has destroyed billions of property and sent innumerable
souls into the other world.
The above depicts chemistry to us as the science of miracles
Pages could be filled with the statements of what can be done
by combining these elements with each other in inorganic chemis-
try according to very complicated formulae and in mineral
chemistry, on the other hand, in formulae of the utmost sim-
plicity.
103
’A Corking New Serial in 3 Parts
Part I
'‘Ihe z^ffCetal ‘T)oom
By David H. KeUer, M.D.
Author of "The Revolt of the Pedestrians,” "The Eternal Professors,” etc.
AS existence becomes easier with the increasing number of inventions — if we
jCA want to disregard economic conditions — we learn more and more of the
science of living. But it seems to us that in direct proportion we lose more and
more any knowledge we might have had of the true art of living, which, after all,
in the event of any basic calamity, is what will count. Dr. Keller’s foreword takes
care, very fully, of anything further we might want to add to our introduction.
Illustration by MOREY
Foreword
S CIENCE-FICTION has foretold in a hundred different
ways the destruction of present civilization. Mankind has
had to fight for existence against gigantic life of unusual
and unheard of forms originating not only on our own earth but
on other planets. Every conceivable form of physical disaster
has wiped out humanity in imagination.
As a matter of historical fact, the human race has survived.
Decimated by changes of climate, devoured by gigantic beasts,
wiped away by plague and tidal waves men have survived ; and
this ability to carry on the torch of life and light the dark places
with the spark of civilization has been due, more than anything
else, to their possessing the psychological trait of adaptability.
There is no doubt that great disasters will sweep over the world
in the centuries to come. Perhaps many of these debacles will
be composed of elements peculiarly strange to human experience.
Man may die by the millions, but ultimately he will adapt himself
to the new conditions of life, make a new adjustment and once
again show that he is the master of the world.
For it does not matter so much to a man what comes into his
life as how he reacts to it. It is believed that always there will
be enough persons showing a courageous and intelligent reaction
to a world disaster to finally save the existence of the human
race and enable it to swing back to normal.
It is this thought that prompts the writing of THE METAL
DOOM.
DAVID H. KELLER, M.D.
CHAPTER I
The Old Watch
HIS watch cannot be repaired,” bluntly
stated the watch expert.
“That is a rather odd statement to make.
I thought the firm of Cadawalter and Sons
stated they could repair any kind of watch
or clock ever made.”
“Exactly what we have advertised for over a century,
but this watch is past repairing. Look at it yourself
through this magnifying glass.”
Paul Hubler did as he was told. At last he handed the
eye piece back.
“The entire works seem to be badly rusted,” was his
short comment.
“Exactly. You must have dropped it in some water.”
Hubler put the old watch back in his pocket, and
started to leave the store. At the door he changed his
mind and came back.
“Can you rebuild it ?” he asked.
“Perhaps, but cannot promise when.”
“Then I’ll leave it. It has been a good watch. My
grandfather bought it in 1851. You saw it was one of
the old key winding type. We have always kept it in the
best of condition. I really prize it highly.”
“We will do the best we can, Sir,” said the man
wearily.
This watch business was getting on his nerves.
He took the watch and went to the office of the presi-
dent of the company.
“Here is one more watch, Mr. Cadawalter,” was his
tired comment.
“Just like all the others ?”
“The same condition in all of them, and they are be-
ing brought in faster than we can handle them. If the
other jewelers in the city are having the same rush we
are having, half of the watches in the city must be out
of order.”
“The only advice I can give you at present is to en-
gage more repairers.”
“That would not help. We have no parts to make the
repairs with.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that. Every piece of metal in our repair rooms
is showing the same red rust that these watches are
showing. We have wired and phoned to the wholesalers,
and they cannot help us. They are having the same
trouble.”
“Then try to sell the customers watches out of our
stock.”
“That would be useless. Not one of our new watches
104
105
106
AMAZING STORIES
is worth a cent. The works in all of them are done for.”
“I'll show you one watch that is O. K. !” cried Cada-
walter, as he pulled his own watch from his vest. He
looked at it, first angrily, then puzzled.
“The blame thing has stopped !” was his comment.
“Of course,” countered the repair man. “The same
thing has happened to your watch that has happened or
is going to happen to all the watches.”
The rich jeweler opened the back of the case of his
watch, spread a piece of white writing paper on his desk
and gently shook the watch above it. A fine red dust
settled on the paper.
“It is the humidity. There has been a lot of rain this
summer,” he explained to his employee. “I am going to
give this my personal attention.”
He started to telephone, thought better of it, put on
his hat and left the office. In the next six hours he
visited twelve of the largest jewelry stores in New York
City. All told the same story ; an unprecedented number
of watches being brought in for repairs, no repairs pos-
sible because of the lack of repair material, and an in-
ability of the manufacturers to furnish new material.
“And let me show you something else,” said the last
man he visited. “Here is a bar pin, platinum and dia-
monds. Yesterday it was worth at least fifty thousand
dollars. Look at it under the glass. The metal is gone.
Go ahead and break it. Have you examined your jew-
elry? Better. We are keeping this quiet, but I will tell
you confidentially that all of our precious metals are
just — I hardly know what word to use, but the word that
comes to me is something worse than rust — it’s dry rot.”
“That is bad,” whispered Cadawalter.
“It is worse than bad. It’s bankruptcy.”
“Have you tried to explain it ?”
“No. It is something that is too new. Take the watch
business. Yesterday we were doing our usual business,
about a hundred a day in for repairs. This morning so
many were brought in that we had to close the window.
Our spare parts went bad over night. We found our
new watches were just as bad. I said to myself, ‘If steel
goes to pieces this way, what is happening to the other
metals?’ and it did not take long to find out what was
going on in our safes and show cases. The watches just
showed the condition early because their parts were so
delicate, but even our solid silver looks sick.”
Cadawalter closed his eyes as he replied.
“Do you suppose,” he asked, as though in a dream,
“that the same condition affecting the hair spring of a
watch would ultimately affect the suspension cables of
a bridge ?”
CHAPTER II
The Hubler Home
P AUL HUBLER, his day’s work over, decided to
walk home. He often walked, preferring it to the
intolerable situations of the subway. This evening
he was joined by an unusual number of pedestrians, most
of them in an angry mood. The subways were having a
great difficulty in keeping to their schedules; watches
were out of order, block signal systems refused to work ;
there were strange breaks in the flow of electrical power.
As a result it was thought best to discontinue the entire
service until a complete investigation and adjustment
could be made.
It was not at all satisfactory to the millions of people
who had become dependent on this service. It meant
late arrival at the supper tables, a complete disarrange-
ment of their evening programmes.
Everything was wrong anyway. The city dweller had
become a slave to time. So many minutes for this and so
many for that. . Arrive at a place at such a time and leave
at such a time. A hundred times a day look at the watch
on your wrist or the clock on the tower. How could
anyone live when he did not know what time it was ?
Paul felt the irritability of the jostling throng, but he
did not venture to ask anyone what the trouble was. He
just walked home as best he could. He had been rather
successful in life and the place he called home was a
two-room apartment holding a wife and baby. He
smiled as he thought of the baby, almost considered it
an adventure in high finance.
In spite of the disaster to his watch he was completely
happy as he swung into the main entrance to the apart-
ment house which contained his home. The fact that a
thousand other families lived in that identical bee hive
gave him no particular concern. But what aroused his
interest was a crowd of decidedly angry men and women
in front of the elevator door.
“I am sorry,” cried the starter, for the thirtieth time,
“but these elevators are out of order, and there is no
telling when they will be running. You will have to
walk.”
“Up to the thirtieth floor ?” yelled a woman.
“That’s just your hard luck,” retorted a man, break-
ing away from the group. “I live on the tenth.”
Paul Hubler started to walk up the steps. He lived
on the twenty-third floor and even though he was an
ardent pedestrian, his muscles ached when he reached
that level. He and his wife had lived in this particular
apartment over three years and this was the first time he
had ever walked up the stairs.
He had a great time in explaining it all to his Mufe.
Ruth Hubler was tired and perhaps a little cross. She
was more intent on telling her husband her troubles than
in listening to his. The telephone was not working, the
electric refrigerator had stopped, the electric stove would
not heat. The baby was cross. Nothing but a cold sup-
per could be served, and since the elevator had gone out
of commission at noon, she had been unable to go out
and buy anything.
Her husband listened to her.
Suddenly it occurred to him what it meant to a woman
to live on the twenty-third floor under the conditions of
the last eight hours,
“We will move,” he announced decisively. “We will
go somewhere and live near the ground. It is time to '
get out of the city anyway. Now that Angelica is walk-
ing, we ought to give her a chance. We will move into
the country. That is what we saved the gold for.”
From the day they married they had been saving gold
pieces. Sometimes a twenty-dollar piece was added to
the reserve, but more often a ten or a five. They kept it
all in a leather bag, and more than one evening was spent
in counting it, arranging it in neat piles.
This evening, without waiting for suppep, they opened
the leather bag and dumped the gold out on the sitting-
room table. The man started to pile it, and the wife
helped him. The baby in her highchair played with a
spoon.
“Look at this two and a half piece, Paul,” asked the
woman. “It seems soft. I can bend it.”
And even as she played with it, it broke in two.
At that time Paul Hubler did not realize what it
THE METAL DOOM
107
meant. He was not to blame. Brighter men than he
failed to solve the puzzle on the first day. But. he did
know that something was wrong with their gold and that
gold in the leather bag represented the savings of some
years. He hastily put it back in the bag.
“I am going back to the street,” he told his wife,
hastily kissing her. “I am going to exchange all this
gold for paper money. What happened to one gold piece
might happen to all of them, but if we have paper money
we have the government back of us.”
He worked till midnight feverishly buying paper
money with his gold, losing something at every transac-
tion, but at last ridding himself of all his metal money.
On his way home he bought a basket and filled it with
food. His legs ached and his brain was tired when he
finally reached his apartment at one in the morning. He
showed his wife the paper money.
“And it is all worth a hundred cents on the dollar,” he
explained, “because it has back of it the gold and silver
reserve of the nation.”
When the Hublers went to bed that night they hoped
that everything would be normal the next day. They
were sure that during the night the elevators would be
repaired, the telephone system put in operation, the elec-
tric range and the refrigerator restored to usefulness.
They had fully decided to move, but that would take
some days. The completeness of the disaster that was
slowly overwhelming the nation did not cross the thresh-
old of their consciousness. All they knew was that they
had been made most uncomfortable and that by chang-
ing their place of residence they might avoid similar oc-
currences in the future.
Once the morning came it took but a few minutes for
Paul and his wife to see that there had been no restora-
tion of service. The telephone was still out of order,
the electric servants in their apartment still on strike.
There were other petty annoyances. Every safety razor
blade in the cabinet was worthless; the kitchen closet
was a mess for all the cans had rotted during the night
and tomatoes, condensed milk and sardines made a hope-
less mixture.
They ate a cold and unsatisfactory breakfast and then
the husband started out to see what could be done in re-
gard to moving. At night he slowly climbed up the
flights of stairs, hopeless and puzzled, even if not com-
pletely defeated. The day’s search had brought him
some definite information.
Practically all transportation had come to a standstill.
The automobiles in the street were silent; the subways
and elevated showed no signs of activity. A pushcart
here and there carried the goods of an itinerant mer-
chant.
The sun in the sky silently continued its twenty- four
hour journey but accurate time had ceased. Not a clock
or watch in the city functioned. There was no com-
munication, except from one man to another, by word
of mouth. A nation developed anxiety.
CHAPTER III
The Hublers Move
“TTF we move,” Paul slowly said to his wife, “we will
I have to go on foot. We will be able to take hardly
anything with us. A little bedding and some
clothes — and perhaps some books. We will stay here
tonight and tomorrow I will try and buy some kind of
a wagon or push part. We can make up a few bundles
and start up Fifth Avenue. If we keep on going long
enough, we will reach the country.”
“But do we have to go ?” asked worried Ruth.
“I believe so. All day I tried to learn what I could.
Of course all I could hear were rumors and suspicions.
The worst part is the interruption of train service; and
the boats have stopped. There is no more food enter-
ing the city. There is enough here to feed the people
for a week or two, but a lot of it is spoiled like our
canned goods. Besides it has to be distributed through
the city by hand. We had better get out. We ought to
move tonight. Perhaps we can make it if we start. To-
morrow a half a million people may have the same idea ;
the next day five million. I am tired but . . . would you
have the courage to start tonight ? Let’s do it. It will be
cooler traveling in the dark.”
“We could use the baby carriage,” suggested Ruth.
But one look showed that this was a hopeless idea.
The springs were broken and rusted. Three hours later
the Hublers left their apartment with three compact
bundles and Angelica who was just old enough to real-
ize that there was something unusual going on. As they
left the apartment Paul closed the door, but it fell to the
floor ! the hinges had decayed. He showed it to his wife,
and commented:
“Looks as though we were not leaving any too soon.”
An hour later they were on Fifth Avenue going north.
The street was not crowded, but all the people on it were
going north and all carried bundles. Evidently a num-
ber of people were going to the country.
At midnight Paul Hubler bought a pushcart from an
Armenian. He paid exactly one hundred dollars for
that two-wheeled wagon and it held together exactly two
days, which was a record. In those two days they were
able to make twenty miles. The morning of the third day
found them out in the country. True it was an artificial
country made up largely of estates of rich men, but still
it was country. They were tired but vaguely happy ; ex-
hausted with their unusual exertions, but satisfied they
had taken the correct action. They had been able to buy
some food. Chickens had been purchased and broiled
over a fire.
, Fortunately the weather had been warm. Tourists’
camps were abundant. There was no rain. Milk could
be bought for Angelica. Under other circumstances it
might have been a picnic.
After the pushcart broke down, Paul bought a wheel-
barrow. He had to use a good deal of rope, and at last
a stick for an axle but it kept on going and was large
enough to carry the load. The family was tired, but
something kept them going. Paul Hubler had an idea in
his head, and that idea was slowly becoming dominant.
He wanted to get as far away from civilization as he
could. At last he pushed the wheel barrow up an un-
used country road into the hill country, and there, on the
sixth day he found what he was looking for — an aban-
doned farm. It probably was part of one of the large
estates, purchased by a multimillionaire to round out a
corner of his holdings and to be promptly forgotten.
The house was an old log house, the space between
the logs chinked with mud ; part of the roof had started
to collapse, but the fireplace and chimney were in good
condition. The forest had grown up to the house and
there was a lot of fallen branches on the ground.
A spring gushed out of the rocks in back of the house
and gurgled noisily across the field.
108
AMAZING STORIES
“We will live here,” announced Paul to his tired wife
and crowing baby. Here we have water, a fireplace,
wood and a shelter from the storm. I can repair the
roof. Somewhere we can find a source of food. Some-
how we will survive. Millions of people in the cities will
die but we will survive.”
“Do you mean that we are going to live here?” asked
Ruth.
“Yes. Right here.”
“But you always lived in the city !”
“I know. I spent so many hours a day over my book-
keeping and in exchange for that I was given each week
a check. We took that check and bought things, food,
light, services, transportation, communication. We paid
the rent. Now we will live here, and most of the things
we used to pay for we will now have for nothing save
the sweat of our brow.”
Ruth thought of her pleasant, clean, two-room apart-
ment. She remembered the electric stove, the refriger-
ator, the little washing machine and her electric iron.
“I don’t want to live this way 1” she cried. “I must
have been overinfluenced by your arguments. Did we
have to leave the city? Surely someone has found out
by this time what was the trouble. How about our sci-
entists, our inventors? I don’t want to live this way.”
Paul took her in his arms, baby and all. He kissed
her.
“Some day we may go back to the city,” he assured
her, as he wiped away her tears. “Some day — but not
now.”
■ CHAPTER IV
The New Disease
M eanwhile the nation had not been idle. A
thousand scientists, a million technicians,
twenty-five million workmen were trying to re-
pair the damage done and find some method of prevent-
ing the further destruction of all the metals.
For at the end of the first week it was apparent that
some peculiar and new disease was affecting all the
metals, not only in the United States but all over the
world. The real facts were hard to determine because
communication ceased so suddenly, but it was logical
to suppose that if a condition affected all steel in one
continent it would similarly affect the steel of the world,
and that if gold crumbled to nothing in New York, it
was doing the same in London and Pekin.
Research was active, but lack of communication pre-
vented any concerted effort. The collapse of civilization
would have been slower and more orderly had the tele-
phone continued to function. Tremendous differences
would have been observed had it been possible to give di-
rections over the radio. But the radio, dependent as it
was on metals, broke down as early as the telephone.
Thus each scientist fought a lonely fight in his separate
laboratory, handicapped by the rapid disintegration of
his armamentarium. Glass and porcelain and pottery
were unchanged. Everything made of metal rotted, and
the finer the piece of metal the more rapid was its decay.
A hundred experts announced a hundred opinions to
those who cared to hear them. Some thought it was a
rapid form of electrolysis; others favored the theory
that another planet had rained bacteria on the earth,
which bacteria lived on metals rather than on organic
life. Some advanced thinkers spoke vaguely of a power,
like radiant energy, splitting all elements into hydrogen.
No one was certain of just what was happening to the
metals of the earth, but everyone who had any intelli-
gence was slowly becoming aware of the fact that man-
kind was slowly losing all benefits derived from the use
of metals.
For centuries the advancement of the human race had,
to a great extent, depended on the use of metals. Cop-
per, tin, bronze, iron, steel, had been the physical basis
on which all progress had been based. Electricity, the
white servant of humanity could only serve through
channels of metals. The progress of mankind resulted
from increasing rapidity of communication and greater
ease of transportation and here again metal played a
vital part. Muscle-man had been replaced by mind-man
through the use of machines fabricated of metal. Every
useful art, every necessary science depended on the use
of metals.
In a few parts of the world mankind was still in the
stone age, but even here the steel knife was replacing the
flint one. During the first weeks of the metal disease no
one was able to accurately prophesy what the end was
going to be, and even the most brilliant thinkers were un-
able to communicate their nightmares except to a few
scientists in their immediate neighborhood. It was this
rapidity of metal destruction, the immediate effect on
communication and transportation, that made the entire
period such a dreadful one. The nation broke up into
states, the states into small units. Towns organized as
best they could into defensive units. Each fannhouse
became an isolated fort. It soon became a survival of
the strongest, everyone for himself and God help the
weak and incompetent.
The last census had shown that sixty per cent, of the
nation’s population lived in cities. Within two weeks
this sixty per cent, were trying to move into the country,
anywhere, just so they could get food. For years the
urbanite had read that there was an overproduction of
food, that wheat, potatoes, milk, butter, eggs, were al-
ways in abundance. They knew that all their food came
from the country. What they did not know was the
labor necessary to produce this food, and concerning this
they were indifferent. They had money and with this
money they bought food sent to the cities from the
country.
Now the trains, trucks, boats had ceased to carry the
food to the cities. The city men reasoned that the food
must still be there, out in the country, so they went out to,
get it. They had money and they believed that food
could still be bought.
It was a peculiar exodus. At the beginning of the
debacle, there had been one automobile for every three
of the population. One in a million walked for the plea-
sure of it; the rest rode. Now the only way to leave
the city was on foot. Throughout the entire nation there
was neither ship, locomotive, automobile, nor airplane,
capable of transporting humanity singly or in groups.
The railroads were rapidly becoming streaks of red rust,
motive machinery was rotting, ships sinking in the har-
bors.
So the people started to walk out of the cities. As
they walked they scattered. For a while they met with
kindness ; their money bought food ; the roadside stands
did a rushing business. But the demand was greater
than the supply and then became a struggle for exist-
ence. Those who had food refused to sell it ; those who
were dying for lack of food tried to steal it. For a
THE METAL DOOM
109
month around every farming community the battle
waged. With clubs and stones the embittered farmers
fought for their right to use their supplies to save their
own lives. Except where overwhelmed by sheer weight
of numbers, the farmers always won the battle. At the
end of the month a slow adjustment was begun. The
brighter of the city dwellers began to learn how to sur-
vive under the new conditions. Here and there they
w'ere welcomed by the farm group, and even started in
the country life with as much help as possible.
The death rate was high. Just how many of the total
population died during that first month of panic will
never be known. Years later the revisited cities revealed
horrible stories of suffering. Thousands and hundreds
of thousands of people never left the city. After all it
was their home ; they knew no other life ; they could
not believe that the city was doomed, and so they re-
mained till it was too late.
Others stayed because it was their duty to do so. The
policeman on his beat, the doctor in his hospital, the
nurse by her patient, the mother by her infant child re-
mained and died on duty. The full tale of heroism will
never be told till the day of Resurrection, but there re-
mained a certain percent of humanity, who died with
their faces to the battle rather than yield to the panic
that evacuated the cities in surging white-faced mobs.
Thus the cities died. Dependent on metals, they died
when metals disappeared. Humanity, changing over-
night into the second stone age, lost much of its civili-
zation, and all of its congestion. The psychology of the
period was peculiar in that such a large part of man’s
knowledge became suddenly useless, because he had lost
the metal tools whereby that knowledge could be ex-
pressed and put into practical use. Man entered the
second stone age with the intelligence of a man and the
ability of a child to use that intelligence.
So, in a few months, humanity drifted back into the
dawn of time and the beginning of things.
CHAPTER V
Hubler Makes An Ax
T he three people started to live in the old log
house, and it did not make such an uncomfortable
home. A fire was started in the fireplace and
never allowed to go out. Potatoes were roasted in the
ashes with corn on the cob. An occasional chicken was
broiled a piece at a time on the end of a stick, and An-i
gelica became very fond of a nanny goat which had, for
no apparent reason, adopted the Hubler family. The
goat furnished the baby both milk and a playmate.
The days were very busy. Paul was out all the time
gathering sticks, breaking them as best he could, and
filling one end of the house with a winter’s supply of
firewood. At other times he was on the roof with
branches of pine and mud which he spread over the thin
spots in an effort to make the house waterproof. He
cleaned out the spring, and tried to make the land around
the house look clean and orderly. Every day no matter
what else he did, he spent some time throwing stones at
a target. He forced Ruth to do the same thing. Then
one day he began the collection of piles of small stones,
near the house.
“We may need them,” was his only comment.
During this month he did a lot of thinking. It made
his wife rather unhappy to have him sit on the floor
before the fire and keep still for some hours at a time.
“Why don’t you talk to me,” she would ask.
“I have to think about this. I want to find out what
it all means,” was his invariable reply.
Then one night he started to make his ax. There was
a hickory stick, split at one end, a stone, flat but rather
sharp at one end, and some pieces of wild grapevine. His
first attempt was a failure, and to the average man
would have been disheartening. He simply tried it again,
and finally he found how to wrap the twines of grape
vine in such a way that they held the stone. Then he
started to use the ax and found at once that there was
something wrong with the balance of it. The handle
was too long.
It was one thing to saw through a piece of hickory
and another to cut it off evenly with pieces of stone.
Hubler soon found this out, and reverted to the old
method of burning the end in the fire, then pounding off
the charred end and burning some more and pounding
some more till he had just the required length. At last
he showed the ax to Ruth rather proudly. She did not
seem to be enthusiastic.
“What are you going to do with it?” she asked.
He looked at it for some time before he replied.
“It will be a handy thing to kill something with.”
“What are you going to kill?”
“Something; anything that needs killing.”
After that he spent considerable time every day in
swinging the ax around his head and learning to strike
with it. In a week he became almost proud of his abil-
ity. His muscles were hardening, his co-ordination im-
proving. He made a smaller one for his wife and en-
couraged her to use it. He even made a little one for
Angelica and it was great sport for the three of them
to go out in the warm sunshine of the afternoon and
practice with the axes.
“We are going to go slowly back into the arts of the
stone age,” the man explained. “Of course, it will take
time, but as the need arises, our ability will grow. It
will be interesting to watch our development. We know
about the sling, the bow ,and arrow, the long spear and
even the catapult, but we have never made them for
centuries and naturally have never used them. We do
not have to invent these things, we simply have to be-
come proficient in the making of them and then in the use
of them. We know the theory, the mechanics — what we
must learn is the actual construction. When I was a boy,
I gathered Indian arrow heads. I can tell you a lot
about their shapes but right now I cannot tell how they
are made or how they are fastened to the shaft. Some-
one will have to learn all this. Perhaps the time will
come when there will be manufacturing centers where
nothing but arrows are made.
“But we have to have these things. The man who gets
them first and becomes proficient in their use will be at a
great advantage over the other men.”
“In w'hat way?” asked Ruth, “and why?”
“Because every man may have to fight for his rights ?”
“But how about the law ? And government ?”
“I do not know ; but I think that law and government
has ceased to exist.”
“In other words you are trying to tell me that you
are planning to kill — and kill — and, why you never killed
a chicken.”
“I know ; but that does not say I won’t kill — if neces-
sary.”
Paul was not psychic, but he did a lot of thinking. As
110
AMAZING STORIES
a result he developed the habit of carrying his ax with
him on his trips to the wood to gather branches. He
was out one day experimenting with the ax on some
dead wood when he thought he heard a cry. The next
second he was sure of it. It was Ruth and she was
in trouble. Ax in hand he started to run home. He ran
silently, with sure steps; as he ran he thought to him-
self that two months before such speed would have
winded him; now he was growing tough. He almost
jumped around the corner of the house and found what
he had expected.
A big man, with ragged clothes and a long beard,
had Ruth in his arms trying to kill her. She was
scratching, and biting and kicking. Angelica, sitting
against the side of the house was just crying.
Paul, almost automatically, swung the ax around and
brought the sharp edge of the stone down on the man’s
head. He was rather surprised to see how easy it was to
hit a man like that, and how very efficacious it was. The
man just grunted and dropped and that was all there
was to it.
Ruth started to faint, thought better of it, picked up
the little child and started to comfort her.
“Thanks, Paul,” she said, simply. “Now I guess I
will go and cook something for supper and you can tidy
up the yard.”
Hubler turned the man over on his back. There was
no doubt about the fact that he was dead. So he
dragged him over to a little gully and piled a lot of stone
over him.
“And that is Number One,” he said out loud, “and
the rest that come will get the same treatment, and to-
morrow I am going to start in earnest to make a bow
and some arrows, because the next man may have a club
or an ax and I am not sure how I would do in a real
fight. It is one thing to hit a man in the back of the
head and another thing to hit him between the eyes. But
one thing is sure. So long as I live here I am going to
take care of Ruth and Angelica. No tramp or common
bum is going to hurt them so long as I can prevent it —
and I have a feeling that I can prevent it so long as I
am alive.”
After supper Ruth took her ax and went to the edge
of the woods.
“I am going to learn to throw this ax,” she explained
to her husband.
“I am going to learn to throw it so it will hit a tree
and cut it way into the bark.”
“That is the way we used to throw a penknife when
I was a boy,” commented her husband. “We threw it
all dififerent ways in a game called mumble-le-peg.”
“This is not a game, and a woman does not always
hit what she aims at,” replied Ruth, “so you and the
baby get out of the way.”
For a while she did not even touch the tree. Then
she was always able to hit it with some part of her ax.
After two hours, just at the end of twilight, she had the
satisfaction of seeing the stone edge of the ax sink into
the bark.
“I’ll do better tomorrow,” she said, “and in a week or
two I’ll be about perfect.”
Later in the evening they sat before the fire. The
night was not cold but there was a chill in the air that
told of the approaching fall. Angelica was asleep on her
fragrant bed of pine needles.
“How do you feel about it all, Paul?” the woman
asked.
“Fine as can be.”
“I mean about killing that man ?”
“It is all right. He had to be killed. Of course, he
was the first one, but there always has to be a first one of
everything. And if I had not killed him he would have
killed me. I have a feeling that I am going to kill more
men before things reach normal, and all I want to do is
to always feel that I am justified in the killing. I never
want to kill just for the pleasure of it.”
As he talked he w'as pushing a sharp stone backward
and forward in a line across the handle of the ax.
“What are you doing that for, Paul?”
“That is my tally.”
CHAPTER VI
The First Visitor
T WO days after that, in the afternoon, the family
were out on the edge of the forest practising
throwing the a.x. Even Angelica was toddling
around throwing little sticks at rocks.
Ruth took careful aim and hit a tree in a perfect
throw.
“That is fine,” exclaimed a voice, “but I wish you
would not pick out a sugar maple to practice on.”
Hubler whirled around, ax in hand, ready to fight.
But the young man, smiling, advanced with hands
above his head.
“Don’t take me too seriously, my dear sir. I have
only come to call on you and your wife.”
“We do not want any callers. A man called a few
days ago and he is under the rocks in the ravine.”
“You persist in misunderstanding me. My name is
John Stafford. I own a few thousand acres of land
around here. In fact, I own this farm, though I never
visited it till today; but one of my men told me he had
been seeing smoke from the chimney so I thought I
would walk over and see who was here. Have you been
here long?”
“We have,” answered Ruth. “Ever since we left the
city when the metals went to pieces. We came right
here, and tried to get along. There is still some money
in our poeket and if you tell us what the rent is, we will
be glad' to pay it and stay. We like it here. We hoped
that we could plan our life so we could live here.”
“In an age of stone?” asked Stafford.
“That is what it looks like,” asserted Hubler, slightly
smiling, as he looked at his ax. “Would you mind going
to the house ? We are sorry we cannot offer you some-
thing worth while in the shape of food, but the spring
water is excellent.”
Later on the visitor started the conversation.
“So you folks left New York early?”
“Very early. We were in the first rush, and, as I had
a pushcart and later on a wheelbarrow, we made rather
good time, in spite of the baby. You see I had always
prided myself on being a pedestrian and my ability to
walk came in good stead. I reasoned that there were a
lot of people behind us and that most of them would stay
on the cement roads, so at the first good chance I hit a
dirt one and landed here. So far we have only had two
visitors, and the first one did not live very long. Fie
was rough with Ruth. You are number two.”
“I think,” said Stafford, “that you are the kind of
people I am looking for. Let me tell you my story. I
have always been rich, a manufacturer, but my main in-
terest was in horses and the olden days and the ways
THE METAL DOOM
111
folks used to do things. People thought I was a fool,
and I guess I was. For example, I hated barbed wire.
Not an inch of it is on my stock farm. Stone fences and
rail fences, but not a bit of metal, not even a nail in them.
Same way with my house. All built of wood, put to-
gether with wooden nails. I even had a set of wooden
dishes. I collected arrow heads, learned to shoot with a
bow. I have as fine a collection of tomahawks as you
ever saw. And horses ! You ought to see those horses.
“Then the crash came. I was in New York at the
time. I waited for a while, longer than you did, just
long enough to arrive at an opinion of the seriousness
of it all and then I went up the river in a sailboat, though
part of the time I had to drift around waiting for the
wind. But I arrived before much of the mob came, and
then I started to save my place.
j “Guess how I did it? Just stood at my front gate
and gave away money. I always had a lot of cash in the
house and now I gave it away. Every one who came by,
I told them that I was sorry for them and here was a
twenty dollar bill or a ten dollar gold piece and they
should go on to the next town. I had my hostlers and
house men in back of me with clubs and we were a bad
looking lot and so the mob flowed on past my place.
Lots of my neighbors had a bad time. Some were killed
and some came to my place for safety, but we got by.
Not a horse was stolen; not a fence was broken.”
“I suppose the money you gave them was worthless,”
commented Hubler.
“Certainly. I knew it when I gave it to them but they
did not. Of course we don’t know for sure, but I think
the United States is a thing of the past. Even the state
government is gone. But I rule. I am the state. I have
fenced in three thousand acres of land and that land I
am going to hold, and the things on it are going to stay
mine, and I and my friends are going to live on it, in a
new stone age, and we are going to work out our salva-
tion and perhaps do a little to save other communities,
and anyone who is against us is going to die.”
“So you came here because you heard we had squatted
on your land and burned some of your wood and killed
a stray hen or two?” asked Paul Hubler, tightening his
grip on his ax.
The visitor laughed, as he answered :
“No. I came here because I heard there was a man
and woman and little baby trying to solve their prob-
lems in an intelligent manner. To be honest, we have
been watching you for several weeks. I have been
pleased with the reports of my men. I think that you
are the type of man we are looking for. You are brave,
moral, and you have not only imagination but some abil-
ity. In our new life we need men like you. I am not
going to ask you to come and live with us, though some
day you may want to, but I do want you to come over
and see us and get an idea of our plans. Perhaps we
can give you some supplies to help you over the winter
and my men can come over and fix that roof up for you,
and help build a pen for the goat, and in addition you
ought to have a horse.
“You come and see me and talk over plans with me.
Let me help you. Then, if the pinch comes and you need
more help, you know where to go. It is not so bad now,
but when winter "comes, these woods will be dangerous
for a lone man and his family. I believe there will be
gangs of men, hungry and desperate, who will go over
the state this winter like packs of wolves. If you were
with us, your wife and baby would be safe.”
“There is something to that,” replied Hubler, thought-
fully.
“Think it over,” urged the visitor. “Let me draw a
map for you in this dirt. Here is your road and here is
another road and that comes out on the concrete, and
then turn to the left and my place is just around the bend
of the road. Cannot miss it. Only be careful when you
come near to the fences. I have sentries out now and we
tell the people to move on or get killed and we mean it.
If one of the men says anything to you simply say,
“Better days are coming” and that will pass you through
the lines, but I’ll tell the boys to be on the lookout for
a man with a pretty baby. We will have to make a bone
necklace for that little one, Mrs. Hubler.”
“Do you really think there is going to be trouble,
Mr. Stafford ?” whispered Ruth, holding Angelica a
little tighter in her arms.
“Positive of it. We have had bad days and worse are
on their way. The cities literally vomited their people.
For a while the crooks stayed to steal but they soon saw
that their plunder would not feed them, so they joined
the mob. And the way we have had to treat them is not
very nice to think about.”
“But I am sure there were some nice people you could
have helped,” insisted Ruth. “There must have been
some nice people who passed your place.”
“There were some,” agreed Stafford. “In fact I have
ten families on my place now. But you would be sur-
prised what a very few there were that I could feel sure
of — enough to ask them to join my new republic. It was
this way — I had an idea, and if they were ever so nice
and did not harmonize with that idea, I simply could not
help them.”
“What was the idea?” interrupted Hubler.
“You ought to know it from the fact that I have asked
you to join me. I am forming a colony; its isolation is
just as complete as though it were on a desert island on
the Pacific. It is going to be composed of separate
families of clean cut young men and women who are in-
telligent and courageous and who have imagination. I
want every unit to become self-sustaining, but at the
same time every man and fevery woman should be able
to contribute something in the way of a speeialty that
will tend towards the public welfare. For example there
must be a doctor who is able to do surgery, an engineer
who is able to construct fortifications and help us with
our artillery, an expert in agriculture who will advise us
in the growing and harvesting of crops. There must be
an expert in pottery, someone who can teach the women
to harvest the flax and cotton and spin thread and weave
cloth. There will have to be a great deal of cottage in-
dustry. The time may come when we will be able to
have men and women work just at one task, but for the
time I want every man and woman to learn to do every-
thing. But above all they have to be brave — have a vi-
sion of the future, learn to prepare for that future,”
“It sounds interesting,” admitted Ruth.
“But it does not explain why you picked us out,”
added Paul.
“I thought you would see,” answered Stafford. “You
left the city early. That shows foresight, imagination.
You have a quick conception of what was going to hap-
pen. You realized that safety lay in isolation, and you
saw that most of the people would be afraid to leave the
cement roads.
“You came here. The two of you took a deserted
farm and broken down house and made a home. You
112
AMAZING STORIES
learned to do things. I bet that right now you are saving
seed corn for next year, and you have set aside the win-
ter’s firewood. You made your axes and started to
learn how to use them. You are taking good care of the
baby. The place looks clean. You three are a family.
If you never saw anyone for five years you would get
along. That all shows you are adaptable. I want you.
I wish I had fifty families like your family. Will you
join us?”
The man and woman looked at each other. They un-
derstood.
“Not just now,” answered Hubler. “We have really
had a good deal of pleasure out of this experience. We
have sort of made a second honeymoon out of it. I think
that we would like to stay here this winter — at least try
it. Perhaps in the spring we will join you. The baby
will be older then and should have the company of other
children. Of course, something may happen and then
we will be glad to come. It was kind of you to praise us
the way you have, and invite us, but just now we want to
try things out a little longer.”
The visitor rose and stretched himself.
“I will send you some things,” he said, “a few things
to make you more comfortable, and I will have my
scouts drop in now and then. Any time you change your
mind come over and join us.”
CHAPTER VII
News from the North
J OHN STAFFORD walked down to the road,
mounted his horse and was soon around the turn of
the road. Paul and Ruth waved a gay good-bye of
him and then calling Angela, went into their home.
"That is a nice man,” commented Ruth. “I wonder
if he is married.”
“At least he has an idea of the important part women
are going to play in the new world,” laughed her hus-
band.
On the way back to his farm Stafford did a lot of
thinking, and the end of the thinking was the same as
the beginning, and that was the fixed idea that Paul and
Ruth and Angelica Hubler would make a valuable addi-
tion to the new social order he hoped to establish.
He was a little surprised to find a strange horse hitched
to a post in front of his home, and the rider of this horse
serenely seated on a chair on the front gallery. The
newcomer lost no time in introducing himself.
“I am Andrew Mackson, Mr. Stafford. I am from
Vermont, and I am hunting men.”
“Do you mean real men, Mr. Mackson ?”
“Nothing but that kind.”
“I have a number on this farm. What can we do
for you ?”
“Have you the time to listen to me?”
“Certainly. After that we will have supper. I’ll have
your horse put up. Looks like a fast animal.”
“He is. But I do not want to impose on your hospi-
tality. Still, if you insist, I will stay. Roads are danger-
ous. I judge you are fond of horses ?”
“Big part of my life.”
“How are you shoeing them nowadays?”
“Oh ! Just leather pads securely tied with thongs. On
dirt roads I don’t worry about shoes. My horses are
doing well.”
“How about fences?”
“Mine are all stone or rail, and so is my house, but let
me tell you why I am here. My part of Vermont is just
about deserted, but it has more pretty, small farms, than
you ever dreamed of, and lots of water power. Just lots
of timber; and most of the farms have stone houses on
them. I want men and women to come up there and live.
I can show them how to build mills to run with water
power, and we can grind the grain with mill-stones. I
think that some day we can even get some timber out, if
we can make a saw with flint teeth. It is nice country up
there, and we have worlds of the very thing you need in
this new life.”
“What’s that?”
“Stone. We have stones of every kind and every
shape. What ever you want in the way of stone we have
it. Add to that water power and forests, and stone
houses already built, and you have a paradise. All we
need I have mentioned. We want men and women and
children. People with courage and imagination and the
determination to do everything in their power to help
build up a new civilization. Do you know any that
way ?”
“That is the kind I am hunting for, Mr. Mackson. You
may not know it, but right here is the capital of the new
republic. Just as soon as I can find them I am going to
put a hundred families here and we are going to work
our new life out together and we are going to have a
stone age here that will be more worth while than any
metal age ever dreamed of being.”
“You wouldn’t want to spare any of the families you
have ?”
“Not one. The kind of family I am looking for is
scarce.”
Mackson drummed on the seat of the empty chair by
his side. At last he broke the silence.
“I have just thought of something, Mr. Stafford. Up
in Vermont I have an idea of a small unit of people who
will form a small commonwealth and be absolutely in-
dependent of the rest of the world. Independently you
arrived at the same idea. Down in Connecticut I found
the beginnings of another unit and the leader there talked
the same as we talked. He wanted to show the world
that the Yankees could do more with stone than had ever
been thought of. He asked me to bring my folks down
and learn how to really use stone — just as if he could
teach a Vermonter anything about stone.
“My idea is this. In the old days of metal and elec-
tricity, there were a lot of no-account people; just a lot
of them who thought of nothing except their own pleas-
ure and never had an original idea from the day they
were born to the day they died. But at the same time here
and there all over the states there were worthwhile folk,
perhaps descendants of the old pioneers, at least men and
women with lots of stone in their backbones — folks who
never knew when they were licked.
“Those people here and there are going to form colonies
like your republic and mine. They are going to work
along the same lines. Use all the intelligence they have
and work out their own' problems in their own way. These
colonies are going to be like oases in the desert. The
common herd will mill around and finally die out. Per-
haps a good many will have to be killed. Finally only
the people in the colonies will be left. And then we will
have to unite in some way, for mutual defense, if for
nothing else. Perhaps we can build a large fort some-
where, so if we care to attack we can use that for a ral-
lying place. I don’t want to leave Vermont and you don’t
THE METAL DOOM
113
want to leave New York but we might have to, anyhow.
“You mean there might be a war?”
“Certainly.”
“Whom with?”
“I do not know ; but someone. There are a lot of peo-
I)le in South America, and then there is Asia. We will
not know for a long time what happened in Asia, but
they probably felt the change less there than we did. But,
no matter whom we fight, we will have a war, and we
might as well get ready. My young men are out every
day shooting at a target with their bows and arrows, and
we are working at catapults that will throw a twenty-
pound stone a hundred yards. We are going to hunt
wild pigs this winter with stone-tipped lances, from
horseback. Now if you want sport, you try that.”
Stafford ignored the sporting side of the conversation
and returned to the serious part.
“So you think there might be trouble. I think so, too.
In fact I think we will have a little war this winter. There
are several gangs of New Yorkers working around here,
and they are not pleasant neighbors. When winter comes
they are going to be hungry and my people are going to
have food. I have been thinking of building a fort, so
the women and children will be safe.”
“Might be a good idea,” commented Mackson, “but I
tell you what I think. As soon as winter comes, at least
cold weather, put your men on horseback, and round
them up. Give the rascals so many hours to get out and
stay out. If they start to fight, exterminate them. After
you wipe out a few of the gangs, the others will give you
a wide berth. There were some men like those you tell
about came down from Montreal, hunting for warmer
climate, and believe me, they found it when we started
after them. A fort is all right, but if you fight early
enough and hard enough, you won’t need one.”
CHAPTER VIII
The New Republic
T he conversation between the two leaders was in-
terrupted by supper. After that there were more
conferences, as a result of which a very important
decision was arrived at. The former area of the United
States was divided into five parts and only one dividing
line was artificial. The parts were 1 and 2, east of the
Appalachian and north and south of the old Mason and
Dixon line; 3, between the Appalachian and the Mis-
sissippi ; 4 between the Mississippi and the Rockies, and
5, west of the Rockies. Each of these five parts were to
be absolutely independent of the other four but were to
unite for defense. Within each part were to be formed
a number of separate, independent communities, who
would be in communication and help each other in every
way possible. Once a year representatives of the smaller
units would meet. Once every five years there would
be a meeting at or near St. Louis of five representatives
of the five republics.
That was the programme formulated during the eve-
ning’s conference. It avoided all finances, for it was
early recognized that money, as a means of exchange,
was something that would have to be developed. The ex-
change of work and the exchange of surplus commodities,
the ancient system of barter, for many years would re-
place money. Within each community each citizen would
contribute toward the welfare of the community and in
return would be cared for by the community.
One of the men engaged in the conference objected ;
“That is socialism, pure and simple. No community,
founded on those lines, has ever survived. It does away
with personal initiative”.
Stafford’s argument was brief.
“None of those communities lived in the stone age.”
Stafford turned to Mackson:
“You are a pretty good talker, Mr. Mackson. Some-
one has to carry the message. How would you like
to give a few years of your life to the spreading of this
political gospel? I will loan you a few of my best men
to serve as a bodyguard, and you go out to the Pacific
Coast and see how far you can go in organizing the old
U. S. A. along these lines. Someone has to do it. Every
place where they have the vision of the future that we
have ; talk things over and see if you can get them to sign
on the dotted line. When you reach the coast, have one
of their big men ride back with you, so he can become
personally acquainted with the situation in the east.
Will you do it?”
“That is a big contract, Mr, Stafford.”
“But I am asking a big man. Your only reason for
refusing would be your honest conviction that your Ver-
mont colony would go to pieces in your absence.”
“It wouldn’t,” the Vermont man was honest enough to
admit, “for my brother up there is really a better man
than I am.”
“Then it is all settled. I have a piece of paper here and
a quill pen. I will draw up articles of confederation,
and you and I will head the list of signators. You take
the paper with you. I have a feeling that in this room we
are making history, gentlemen. It may be that some day
this paper will rank in importance with the Magna
Charta, and the Declaration of Independence. How shall
I start it ? Something like this :
We, the undersigned, leaders of new eco-
nomic AND political GROUPS WITHIN THE BOUND-
ARIES OF THE United States, but existing under
A new Stone Age, brought about by the Metal
Doom, do hereby pledge ourselves to the forma-
tion OF A confederation OF THESE GROUPS FOR
THE FOLLOWING REASONS I
That was the way the first rough copy started. It was
rewritten several times, but at last they had something
that satisfied the group of educated men gathered in the
great living-room.
Arrangements were made for the little group of men to
start west early the next morning. The four men se-
lected to go with Mackson were all experienced horse-
men and expert marksmen with the bow and arrow.
There was no reason to think that there would be any
special danger but it was felt best to be prepared. The
five men realized that even with the best of luck it would
be more than a year before they returned to their homes.
At the same time the novelty of the journey was such
that they looked forward to it with a spirit of enthusiasm.
Later on, when communication became better, other
colonies claimed that they were the first to originate a
plan for a new confederation. They deserve honor for
their originality but as far as historical research is con-
cerned, it is practically certain that the honor of priority
fell to Stafford and Mackson and it is the paper that
Mackson carried to the Pacific Ocean and back to Ver-
mont that is recognized as the greatest paper of the new
stone age. The names of signers on it comprise prac-
tically all of the great men of the new world, three of
the signers later becoming Presidents.
114
AMAZING STORIES
Stafford made the final comment as the meeting ad-
journed :
“Tell those you meet, Mackson, that this first is a sur-
vival of the fittest. Those who cannot be trusted, who
are incompetent to learn the new lesson, who hold on to
the old ideas of power and riches and the oppression of
the poor must be cast out of our communities. If they
perish, they perish. We dare not try to save them. The
same way with the feeble-minded, the insane and the de-
generate. Our society must not save them.”
CHAPTER IX
How One Man Died
I T is certain that since the discovery of printing, no
world disaster had ever been so poorly documented
as the period of the Metal Doom. Practically over
night there was a more or less complete cessation of the
daily press. One day the giant presses of the country
were stamping the news on thousands of tons of pulp
paper; the next day those same presses were silenced.
One day news was flashed from the Orient to the Occi-
dent in the winking of an eye; the next day the tele-
phone, telegraph and wireless had ceased to serve man-
kind.
Time passed and eventually the scientists had some
fairly definite idea of how humanity had reacted to the
new conditions under which life had to be lived. An in-
teresting and perhaps partly accurate history could be
written, but at the best only the surface of fact would
be scratched ; most of the reactions can only be guessed
at.
One man, however, laboriously wrote his story before
he died, and because that story tells the tale of a brave
man, and also because it partly explains the final state-
ment of Stafford, it is worth while adding that story to
this tale.
At the onset of THE METAL DOOM, humanity was
probably as kindly foolish towards its deliquents and ab-
normal, as it had ever been in any historical epoch. In
the United States alone there were over a half million
criminals being supported by the taxpayers and another
half million abnormals composed of the insane, epileptic,
and mentally deficient members of society. Whereas
other ages constantly eliminated the unfit, there was, in
the United States, a determined effort to prolong the life
of each person as long as possible, irrespective of his
ability to provide for himself or the impossibility of im-
provement or ultimate cure. The highest type of the
medical profession believed that the prolongation of a
human life even ten minutes was worth the expenditure
of every possible scientific effort.
Consequently, the abnormals were placed in special hos-
pitals and there cared for, in such large numbers, that
their maintenance became a most serious problem to the
taxpayer. At last as much was spent in the care of the
physical and spiritual defective each year as was spent in
all forms of education. Irrespective of the number of
hospitals built each year, the demand for more beds al-
ways kept ahead of the building programme.
To these prisons and hospitals the METAL DOOM
came. The prisons constituted a permanent menace to
the new social order. Capital punishment had been al-
most completely abolished and life imprisonment sub-
stituted in its place. Thousands and hundreds of thou-
sands of degenerate criminals were held in restraint only
by steel bars and modern firearms. Over night the fire-
arms became useless. Within a week the steel bars de-
cayed and these criminals, frantic with fear, desperate
with hunger and menacing from the possibility of a com-
plete revenge upon society, hurled themselves on a world
that was already staggering to its social debacle. Ulti-
mately decent society eliminated these criminals in many
a hard fought and bloody battle, but for some years
gangs of law violators roamed the forests and swallowed
all who came within their clutch.
With the insane and feeble-minded, the problem was a
different one. Probably the solution was slightly dif-
ferent in each hospital. Apparently the majority of
superintendents felt that all they could do was to liber-
ate their patients and allow them the right to survive if
they could.
Dr. Hiram Jones was the Medical Director of the
Central Pennsylvania State Hospital for the Mentally
Defective. His patients were probably lower in intelli-
gence than the patients in any similar institution in the
United States. There wJ'.s a larger percentage of idiots
and low grade imbeciles. Dr. Jones, in his daily rounds,
preached the gospel of loving kindness and the pro-
longation of every life. He sometimes wondered just
why his helpless charges should be allowed to live, but
he never wavered from his professional pride in their
care. In his more grandiose moments he called them all
his children, certainly a large and peculiar family, thir-
teen hundred idiots and near idiots.
His superior officer was a political appointee, who,
when the crash came, left at once, to take care of himself
and his family. Of the one hundred and ninety em-
ployees, a large number walked off when they realized
the impossibility of caring for their charges under the
new condition.
Dr. Jones and ten faithful men and women tried for
two days to feed and care for the thirteen hundred pa-
tients. During that time Jones went without sleep. At
twilight of the second day he had arrived at a decision.
He gave orders that all of the little ones should be put
to bed. This was not a difficult task. Going to bed and
to sleep was something that all in the hospital had done
so often that it had become routine.
Sleep and quiet, blessed twin angels, hovered over the
hospital, and then Dr. Hiram Jones started to make his
last round. He paused at each bed, and with a medicine
dropper carefully placed between parted lips five drops of
medicine and then on to the next bed. He worked
methodically and quickly, aided by his little band of
nurses. At last all of the patients were asleep.
And from that sleep we trust they wakened into a
world where all little children are bright and happy and
intelligent.
Dr. Hiram Jones said good-bye to his nurses and ad-
vised them to do what seemed best to them and then he
went to his office. There he lit a tallow candle and fin-
ished writing his story. He used a quill pen he had just
made for the purpose. He had written the story of those
hard days and now he added an ending as though to
justify himself in the eyes of all who would come after
him and read.
“And my final conclusion was that if these
CHILDREN OF MINE WERE LIBERATED THEY WOULD
ALL OF THEM DIE OF STARVATION OR WORSE. SOME
MIGHT LIVE FOR WEEKS LIKE WILD ANIMALS LIVE
IN THE WOODS BUT EVENTUALLY THEY WOULD DIE.
It may be that even the most intelligent of
THE METAL DOOM
115
OUR NATION WILL HAVE A HARD TIME TO SURVIVE,
BUT THERE CAN BE NO FUTURE AND NO HOPE FOR
THESE POOR THINGS I HAVE CARED FOR THESE LONG
YEARS.
“And SO I am sending them home. It is a
HAPPY thought to ME THAT THESE CHILDREN
HAVE A HOME TO GO TO AND A FATHER WHO IS MORE
KIND AND WISE IN IIIS DEALING WITH THEM THAN
I HAVE BEEN ABLE TO BE. I AM SENDING THEM
home! And yet these children loved me and
TRUSTED ME. ThEY SHOWED NO FEAR BECAUSE THEY
WERE IDIOTS, YET THEIR MENTAL POVERTY ONLY
ADDED TO THE WEALTH OF THEIR LOVE FOR ME.
“In DOING THIS NEED I HAVE SHATTERED TRADI-
TIONS OF A LIFETIME. I DID WHAT SEEMS BEST FOR
THEM, BUT TO ME IT WAS A LOSS OF ALL THE BEST
IN MY ETHICAL LIFE.
“I CAN ONLY COMPENSATE BY JOINING THEM IN
A BETTER WORLD."
So Dr. Jones dropped ten drops of the medicine on his
tongue, blew out the candle, and went into the darkness
to find his children. Two years later the message was
found on his desk with all that remained of a brave man,
still seated with his head in his arms.
CHAPTER X
The Right To Live
W INTER was approaching. The Hubler family
was prepared for it. They had received some
help from Stafford, but even without that, they
would have done fairly well. They were learning, not
only to live the life of pioneers, but in addition to ac-
commodate themselves to the conditions of the new stone
age.
Paul had made some traps and every day brought In
some fresh meat or some skins. Ruth was learning to
make articles of clothing out of the skins. Even An-
gelica in her play was preparing for the new life. Her
dolls were growing up in a non-metallic period.
Every morning Paul would start out to make a round
of his traps. Late afternoon found him back in the
house. The entire family was comfortable. They had
the necessities of life, though entirely deprived of the
luxuries of their former home in New York. They
often talked about that city. Now that Hubler was a
little more sure of the future he had more time to talk.
“I have often wondered just why men like Stafford
did not send expeditions into the city,” he said one eve-
ning. “There must be a lot of plunder there that would
be useful for many years to come. Think of the full
storehouses, the department stores, even the private
homes, deserted like ours was. Some day when I have a
chance I am going to talk about it to him.”
“I am afraid that it is all rather mussed up,” replied
his wife. “You remember what happened to our canned
goods; and then just as we left our apartment, the
faucets started to leak. I believe that the city was
flooded. Think of all the water pipes going to pieces.
Perhaps by now many of the buildings have fallen down.
It was really the steel that held them up toward the sky.
I think that some day Mr. Stafford will go to the city,
but it seems to me that his idea is to become absolutely
independent of the past. Anything we took from the
city would only last so long and the time would come
when we would have to learn how to make things or go
without, so the sooner we begin the better we will be
able to live on.”
The next morning Hubler started as usual to make a
round of his traps. A light snow had fallen during the
night and the woods had turned into fairy land. He de-
termined to make a larger circle than usual in the effort
to locate some new hunting grounds up on the mountains.
He was four miles from home when he saw smoke.
That was enough for him.
He had never seen smoke in that direction before.
And smoke meant human beings. He wanted to know
what kind.
Born and raised in the city, he had behind him a long
line of frontier ancestors. His forebears had fought the
Indians so often that they had almost turned into Indi-
ans themselves. Once Paul Hubler set his feet on the
bare ground, he had reverted to type. Call it inherited
memory, or any other name, the fact remained that he
had become a natural and very efficient woodsman.
So he started to find out where the smoke was coming
from.
Two hours later he was motionless on an overhanging
shelf of rock. Fifty feet below him was the fire and
around that fire were fifty men, escaped from Sing Sing.
They had raided a farm, killed a cow, and now were
busily engaged in eating it and trying to keep warm.
There was no doubt about the fact that they were a
menace to society. Paul could hear them talking, the
argot of the New York underworld, A lot of the slang
he could not understand but he had no difficulty in catch-
ing the drift of their conversation. They were tired of
living in the forest, and too lazy to build cabins. They
had killed and robbed, but now there were no more iso-
lated families, no easy plunder. The winter was going
to be cold and long.
And they planned to attack the Stafford farm, kill the
men, take possession of the buildings, and add the
women to their gang. It was not an unusual plan. Sim-
ilar collections of degenerates had been doing just that
thing ever since the beginning of the Metal Doom. The
unusual part of it was that they were talking rather
loudly and Paul Hubler was on the overhanging rock.
He had heard enough, and left as silently as he had
come. Once away from the vicinity he traveled as he
had never traveled before. He came to the edge of the
wood; he came to the house and found Ruth and An-
gelica safe, and then, without pausing to tell her the rea-
son for his haste, he told her to put on her wraps and
get ready to leave the house.
“We are going to see Stafford,” he said. “I have to
see him.”
It was a long walk. They took turns carrying the lit-
tle girl. The road had three inches of snow on it, pull-
ing, dragging at their feet. At last they came to a
well-built, wooden fence. A man was slowly walking
up and down the crossroads. He walked up to Paul.
“You have to stop, and turn around,” he said sharply.
“This road is private.”
“Better times are coming,” answered Hubler.
The man smiled.
“In that case you can go on. Want to see the Boss?
He is up at the house. You look tired. Suppose I
carry the baby for you to the end of my beat, and then
one of my buddies will help you out. You look tired.”
“Not so much tired as worried,” acknowledged
Hubler.
Soon they were being heartily welcomed by Stafford.
116
AMAZING STORIES
“I thought you people had decided we were not good
enough for you to associate with,” he said with a laugh.
“It was not that, Mr. Stafford,” Ruth replied seri-
ously. “We wanted to make a real effort to get along
for at least one winter on our own resources, and we
could have done it, only Paul became frightened.”
“I bet it w’as something serious, Mrs. Hubler. Your
husband does not impress me as a man who would
worry over trifles.”
The husband told his story. He told it in the greatest
detail, not omitting any of the crimes the various mem-
bers of the criminal gang had bragged about. He ended
with the simple statement :
“I thought you ought to know about it as soon as
possible.”
“You were right. It looks like a very serious matter.
I want to call my advisory group together. We have
talked over such a possibility, but so far it has not been
a real emergency. I want whatever action we take to be
the best thought of not one man, but of all the thinkers
in our community.”
So, within a short time, Paul Hubler was repeating
the story to an earnest group of twenty men, each a
specialist in his line of physical or mental endeavor.
They listened intently. Then Stafford called on the old-
est man of the group, a man who directed the agricul-
tural life of the community. He was highly respected
by his fellow workers. He began:
“When I was a young man I had a dog. Pie was a
cross between a collie and a fox hound, and when he
reached his grow'th he was a fairly large dog. Now
there were a lot of dogs in that section larger and
heavier than my dog, but my dog never lost a fight.
When he decided to fight another dog he simply walked
up to him and jumped; there was no warning. The
other dog was conquered before he realized there was
a fight.
“I think we ought to act that way. These men by
their own statements have been guilty of murder and
worse. They are thinking of killing us, and taking our
property. They even talk of taking our women. There
is only one thing to do. Surround them and exter-
minate them.”
“You would not capture them and give them a chance
to leave this part of the country ?” asked Stafford.
“Absolutely no. We might succeed, but we simply
expose others to the same dangers we escape from. It
would not be friendly. We did not ask for it, but this
has become our problem. Let us settle it.”
The old farmer sat down.
The vote taken proved that he had voiced the opinion
of all present. Then Stafford said a few words :
“Ever since the beginning of the changes produced by
the Metal Doom I have been convinced that there had to
be an elimination of the unfit. I hope that we will al-
ways take care of our aged, but for the criminal I saw
no hope. Our social order is too weak to imprison him
and support him in idleness, and at the same time we
cannot allow the psychopathic personalities to remain at
liberty. They are too dangerous to the decent people in
any community. I am sure that at the present time
there are lions and tigers in our woods escaped from
the various Zoological Gardens of our land. If we
found one of them, we would kill it. This band of
criminals is a greater menace than as many wild animals.
There is nothing to do except to protect ourselves. We
will leave here early in the evening. Hubler can guide us.”
CHAPTER XI
The First Killing
I T would be impossible in a short narrative to com-
pletely cover the entire history of this period of
the Second Stone Age, or even to thoroughly describe
the changes effected. Other historians, no doubt, would
stress portions of the transition which this tale com-
pletely omits. What is attempted here is to give a gen-
eral description of the change in civilization, and
especially lay emphasis on the new attitude humanity
assumed in dealing with problems of life.
For it is a well recognized fact that the leaders in the
new social order early realized that the old solutions of
old problems could not be of further use to mankind.
Everything had changed, and the change came so sud-
denly that it was fortunate there were many groups of
men who were possessed of sufficient intelligence and
imagination to see at once the necessity for the adoption
of an entirely new code of social and ethical laws.
The events centering around the first killing showed
the wisdom of their attitude toward the new laws of
society. For centuries the legal profession had made a
game out of the matter of law violation. Once a man
was arrested for a crime, a game of legal chess started
between two lawyers and the question was not so much
an effort to establish the guilt or innocence of the pris-
oner as to determine which lawyer was the shrewdest.
Certain phases became shibboleth, such as EVERY
MAN IS INNOCENT TILL PROVEN GUILTY,
and that NO MAN CAN TWICE BE PUT IN
JEOPARDY OF LIFE OR LIMB FOR THE SAME
OFFENCE.
The attitude of the legal profession was deeply appre-
ciated by the criminal of the late electrical age. Irre-
spective of the blackness or number of his crimes, the
arrested criminal asked for every possible consideration
from the law, and his lawyers took advantage of every
loophole in the law to prevent the administration of
justice to the prisoner.
Obviously, all this elaborate legal machinery broke to
pieces with the smashing of civilization. There being
no jails, there could be no such thing as keeping an
accused man behind the bars for several years while his
trial was fatally procrastinated till even the ablest wit-
nesses had forgotten what it was all about. There being
no money, they could be no more bail, and even straw
bonds were an impossibility, for there were no longer
any courts.
The partial details of the first killing are given to
show the necessity of the act and also to show that
the criminal mind had failed to appreciate the change
that had taken place in his treatment. Up to this time,
the criminal’s chief fear was in being arrested. Now a
far greater menace faced him.
It was full moon that December night. Paul Hubler,
walking silently through the snow, led a company of
sixty silent men. They were armed with bows and
arrows, spears and stone axes. All of them were expert
archers, and had elm bows and yard-long arrows that
would have aroused the envy of Robin Hood save for the
fact that all the arrows were flint tipped. The snow
was just deep enough and soft enough to deaden the
footfalls. Talking had been forbidden.
They came finally to the forsaken home of the
Hublers. From here on Paul had to show his woods-
THE METAL DOOM
117
manship. He felt sure that he knew the way for the
next four miles. Daylight, the first dawn on the white
snow, showed him that he was half a mile from the
bandit camp. 'A thin column of smoke showed in the
frosty air. There was a short consultation and then
the sixty men split into three groups, each of which
approached the smoke from different sides. Stafford
and Hubler made for the overhanging shelf of rock
where Hubler had first heard of the gangster’s plans.
The fire was blazing and the convicts were eating
breakfast. They were talking about their plans for the
day, the capture, plundering and burning the Stafford
properties. They said enough to convince Stafford of
their guilt, even if he had not been fully satisfied
.before.
The weird cry of a hoot owl rang through the wood.
It was answered by other owls.
And then Stafford stood up on the overhanging rock.
“I want you men to listen to me,” he said.
The convicts jumped to their feet. Every man seized
his club. They were not afraid of one man but they
were perplexed at seeing him there At least they kept
still.
“We have your record,” continued Stafford. “We
know what you have done before today and we know
what you were going to do today. We tried you last
night and sentenced you.”
“ Whachermean ?” asked one of the leaders, adding a
few useless but very powerful obscenities.
Stafford simply put his hands to his mouth, hooted,
and the killing began.
From the surrounding wood came the peculiar melody
of twanging bowstrings and the swish of arrows cutting
the air. The convicts began to fall, clutching at the
arrow shafts. Hubler and Stafford had left the rock
to join their men.
The surviving criminals tried to find shelter but there
was none. They tried to run, but that was useless, the
arrows were swifter. At last only two men were stand-
ing against the rock. One was a murderer who had
first been a lawyer.
Stafford told his men to take their spears and finish
the killing. He led them. In fact he and Hubler
walked up to the two unwounded men.
“You can’t do a thing like this and get away with it,”
blustered the lawyer. Time had gone backward with
him; once again he was in the electrical age, bluffing,
twisting, squirming, making use of every legality to
evade punishment. “Don’t you know this is murder?
If we are guilty, why not arrest us and give us a trial?
You say we are criminals? Why, you have broken
every law there ever was during the last ten minutes.”
“Sure thing !” echoed the other man. “You can’t do a
thing like this. You’ll pay for this. Just wait till I
get a lawyer.”
“We are going to kill you,” said Stafford, quietly.
“You can’t do it!” yelled the lawyer.
“Can’t we?” asked the leader, plunging his spear in,
just below the ribs.
Hubler made his kill without comment.
A man came up and touched Stafford on the shoulder.
“All the men are down. Boss, but some of them are
just wounded.”
“Finish them,” was Stafford’s whispered order.
“We will leave them where they fell,” he said to
Hubler. In years to come this place will be visited and
those who come will feel that something happened here.”
“Something did happen,” replied Hubler. “This
marks the beginning of a new justice.”
Back the men of the community went. Back through
the snow. White faced and cold and shivering they
went back through the snow.
“I never killed a man before,” said Stafford.
“I have,” replied Hubler. “I killed a man once who
was trying to hurt Ruth. I never did before, but I am
going to keep on killing anyone who tries to hurt Ruth
or my baby.”
“Are you sure it was right ? Perhaps we should have
given them a chance to fight?”
“They had the same chance to fight that they gave all
their victims.”
“But that man spoke about law?”
“Mr. Stafford. All the law that man knew is dead.”
Back in the community the sixty men were welcomed
by their women and children. There was rejoicing over
the fact that none had been killed, none even injured.
A special dinner was served, and some speeches made
after dinner. Not a word was said about the affair of
the early morning ; it was not even hinted at.
The Hubler s were assigned a comfortable bedroom.
Angelica was put to bed under a Galloway fur laprobe,
which she pretended changed her into, a bear. She
growled and tried to bite her father.
But at last she decided to change back into a little
child.
“I love you, Angelica,” said her father, “and I am
glad you are a little girl instead of a little boy.”
“Thank you,” said Angelica, and went to sleep.
Ruth and Paul sat before the fire. Ruth whispered:
“Do you know what the night is, Paul? This is
Christmas Eve. Centuries ago, on this night, Christ
was born in Bethlehem. He came to bring love and
peace to the world.”
The man shut his eyes. Once again he saw the look
of astonishment on the face of the gangster as he felt
the stone spear strike him. He looked around the room
and seemed to see the dead, stretched on the ground,
with here and there blotches of red on the snow.
He held Ruth closer, as he whispered back:
“I wish Christ had been born on some other day.”
CHAPTER XII
The First Christmas
D uring the night some of the women had deco-
rated the main hall of the Stafford house. The
Christmas programme had long been provided
for. There were to be gifts for all the little ones, toys
and dolls carved out of wood and bone, and decorated
with bits of lace and old dresses, sewed with bone
needles.
All of the little community were to eat Christmas din-
ner together. There was no instrumental music, but all
knew the old carols and pleasure and happiness were
welcomed guests. The women were happy, the children
merry and the men — ^the men were just a little more seri-
ous than seemed to be appropriate.
The food was excellent, meat roasted over the flame,
bread cooked in the brick oven, vegetables boiled in
earthen pots, all served on china plates and eaten with
wooden spoons. There was milk for the little children.
After the dinner there were speeches in plenty, with
jokes and laughter. Life was different, but human
118
AMAZING STORIES
nature was very much the same as it had been. Irre-
spective of changes, life had been kind to those who had
sought and obtained the shelter of the Stafford colony.
There were a thousand unanswered questions, ten
thousand unsolved problems, but for the minute these
were forgotten in the effort to be happy. Just for a
minute and then the tide turned.
One of the sentries rushed in and whispered to Staf-
ford. He beckoned a half dozen men with his eyes and
walked out of the banquet hall. Out on the front gallery
of the house they waited for him, two wild-eyed men
leaning against the railing in their exhaustion.
“We have come to warn you,” they said. After that,
one did the talking, the other falling to the floor and
dying there from his wounds. There is a mob of crooks
sweeping this way. They are killing and burning every-
thing in their path. They have horses, and they are
fast. They heard of your place and swear to eat Christ-
mas dinner here. They killed our wives and burnt our
homes.”
“How many?” asked Stafford.
“Over a hundred.”
“Where from?”
“Up the Hudson.”
“Good. Go in and eat. Sorry about your friend.
Ring the alarm! Call all the men in.”
“Fortunately most of them are here, Mr. Stafford,”
one of the sentinels replied.
“That’s true. It’s Christmas. Keep the women in-
side and we will go out to do our talking. No use
worrying them.”
Seventy men were all there were in the colony. Staf-
ford did not waste time. He called the names of twenty
of them.
“You stay here in the house and guard the women,”
he ordered, “and the rest of you get your arms and
horses ready. We ride to the North Fence. This affair
is not going to be a slaughter, it’s going to be a fight.”
The only argument came from the twenty selected to
remain. Paul Hubler was one of them.
“It’s not right,” he told Stafford. “I ought to go
with you.”
“You stay. It is all arranged. If anything happens
to me you have to help save the colony.”
The fifty men never went back to the house. There
were no farewells said. They simply went to the stables,
saddled their horses, arranged their weapons and rode
away.
At every window faces pressed against the glass,
women’s faces and the faces of little children.
The fifty rode at a gallop to the North Fence. No
time to spare. Doom was faster than the feet of horses.
But when they came to the fence, no enemy was in
sight.
Stafford called out the names of twenty of his best
horsemen :
“Leave your bows and arrows here. Take all the
horses up to the maple grove. Tie thirty and leave
your spears there. Be ready to mount and charge when
the time comes. If they break through, come anyway.
The thirty of us will stay here and hold them. I do not
want one of them to die on our land. We will kill what
we can but you have to mop up.”
The place was well selected for a battle. The stone
fence ran for several miles on both sides of the road.
It was bull strong, stallion high and pig tight. It came
up squarely on both sides of the road, and across the
road there was a gate. But it was not part of Stafford’s
plan to close the gate. A closed gate was a warning, an
open gate an invitation.
The day passed, and then the sun turned into a red
ball of fire. The rouged sky looked angry and cold.
Then the riders came into view, a motley, sordid group,
laden with plunder and their souls charged with a hun-
dred crimes. They were bad men, not brave, but men
who would fight like rats if caught in a trap.
The North Fence looked like one more stone fence
to them. They came on at a slow trot. Their horses
had been badly cared for, poorly fed, and savagely
ridden.
The leaders were almost through the gate when ten
men sprang forward and plunged their lances with the
fury of desperation into horses and men.
In a minute of time the passage was blocked with a
mass of kicking horses and cursing men. And the ten
men kept on stabbing with their lances tipped with six
inches of sharp flint, stabbing at everything that moved,
drawing their lances back and replunging them. Not for
nothing had daily practice been held at this use of the
spear.
Simultaneously the remaining twenty archers stood up
behind the fence and started to shoot. This was archery
with a vengeance, not shooting at a mass, but each arrow
deliberately aimed at a man. Not a sound from one
side of the fence except the grunts of the lancers as
they lunged forward and the twanging of the bows as
the arrows sped.
Half of the horses were down.
And then the mounted men charged from the shelter
of the maple trees. At the beating thunder of gallop-
ing hoofs the bandits still horsed, turned, and Stafford,
realizing that the fight at the best would be unequal,
knowing that soon the arrows would be gone, cursed
his stupidity in sending away the thirty horses.
But down along the outside of the fence they came,
bridles tied together, two men leading them, and Staf-
ford, with a cheer, ordered his men to mount.
Now the enemy was caught between the hammer and
the anvil. They fought. They had to. Armed with
clubs they did their best to save their lives and kill. But
here were no isolated farmers, overwhelmed by num-
bers. Opposed to them were picked men on splendid
horses, men who had for months been training in the
use of the stone ax. Soon the fight had turned into a
flight, and the flight into a deadly ending.
Stafford’s men came back. That is, most of them
came back. Five were killed. During the next twenty-
four hours three more died. Stafford sat on his panting
horse as his men gathered around him. He looked at
them, and then asked:
“Are they all dead ?”
“We think so.”
“Make sure. Kill the wounded horses; take your
ropes and open the gate. We will leave our injured men
here under guard till we can send the carts for them. I
thank you, my friends, for what you have done this day.
I feel that it has taught us a lesson. The day for our
splendid isolation is passed.”
Later on a man rode up to him.
“Boss, the job is finished. We have no prisoners.
But we want to take our dead back with us and the
wounded men want to go back. They think they can
stand the ride better than staying here and waiting for
the carts to come for them.”
THE METAL DOOM
119
“How are you going to take our dead?” Stafford
replied.
“Please, sir, we thought we would take turns carrying
them in our arms. The women would not like it, their
women, if we left them here, even for a little while.”
Stafford started to cry. Poor fellow ! There was no
woman waiting for him to come back, dead or alive ; he
hated to face the other women and tell them the news.
He waved assent, spoke to his horse and started the trek
towards home.
And the hundred men scattered over the meadows,
faces turned toward the growing moon, thought, if they
thought at all, that life had played them a scurvy trick.
Once home, every attention was paid to the wounded.
After all was done that could be done, the solitary physi-
cian took Hubler and Stafford to one side.
“Three of them are going to die,” he whispered. “We
might save them if we had the instruments, but they all
disappeared with the rest of the metals and the stone
makeshifts are not much use.”
“It cannot be helped,” replied Stafford dully. “Tell
their women as kindly as you can and — have you any
morphine to give them? I do not want them to suffer.”
“I have some. You know I asked you to organize an
expedition to some city, to see if we could get some
drugs, and surgical supplies.”
“I know. My fault. I never realized that it might
end in a fight to the death. I will, trust me, do the
best I can. Right now, I must confer with my advisers
and then sleep.”
Six of them met in Stafford’s office an hour later.
Hubler was one of the six.
“Today’s affair convinces me,” said Stafford, “that we
have underestimated the size of this job. In the space
of twelve hours we meet and destroy about one hundred
and fifty desperate bandits operating in two gangs.
Their code of morals is entirely different from ours.
Today we were successful. Tomorrow we may fail.
We know nothing about what is going on in the world
beyond us. We have lived a life of smug contentment,
in a world of dreams. If a thousand men had come up
to the stone fence they would be in this house now and
we would be looking at the moon, like the men we killed.
This place made a wonderful stock farm, but I feel it
has its limitations as a place to defend against an army.
I am not discouraged but I am anxious for the future.
This morning we had seventy men. Tonight sixty-five,
and the doctor says three more will die tomorrow. What
is to be done ?”
“Build a fort,” replied Hubler. And tell the world
to come and take us. Stop being idealists and dreamers
and develop an army of our own. Have other groups
join us ; and then we can defend ourselves.”
CHAPTER XIII
Fort Telephone
T hey all went to bed that night rather exhausted
from the unusual events of the previous twenty-
four hours. The next morning the council of war
was begun.
As a rather delicate compliment, Paul Hubler was
called upon to open the discussion.
“Because he has imagination,” explained Stafford.
“And that kept me awake most of the night,” replied
Hubler. “Seriously speaking, I was restless and when I
did sleep I dreamed rather horrible things. It was all
because I was sure we were in for a bad time.
“We have learned something about it. Naturally we
made some mistakes, but they can be corrected.
“The first thing we have to have is a fort. They
largely went out of fashion during the World War, but
now, without artillery, in the age of Stone, it seems they
would be very useful. I never saw a fort, never helped
to build one, but it seems we will need a lot of timber
and a lot of stone. Both stone and timber are going to
be hard to get without metal tools, but there are a lot of
old stone houses around here, and any number of tele-
phone poles. Let us select a hill, and it has to have a
living spring on it. Tear down some houses and build
four or five towers with little windows in them. Run a
ditch around the hill connecting the towers and in that
ditch set up the telephone poles touching each other and
tied together with ropes. Fill in the ditch, tamp it, and
stiffen the poles in the rear with stone and dirt. Have
platforms made for the archers.
“Inside the fort have little houses built for the vari-
ous families. Build store houses. Have enough fodder
to keep cattle. Build reservoirs for water. Establish
ammunition piles of stone and stores of arrows. Build
catapults to throw large stones; train men to aim them
and estimate distances.
“But that is just one fort. Try and have our neigh-
bors build another one twenty miles away. Have bea-
cons of wood on mountain tops ready to fire as danger
signals. Find out who our allies are and how much we
can depend on them. Consider every group of men our
enemies till they prove that they are decent people.
Learn to fight against overwhelming odds and keep on
fighting.
“I believe that for a while all our effort should be
spent in perfecting our defences. The greatest luxury
we can look for is safety for our women and children.
On them depend the security of our future decades. In-
stead of spending time trying to build looms, and manu-
facture earthen pots, we, should send to the cities and
bring back everything we need. Time enough twenty
years from now to learn how to spin and weave — ^tiow
,we must spend our time in perfecting means of security.
“In the first Stone Age, prolonging of the life of the
individual and securing the perpetuity of the race were
the two great objects of life. In the second Stone Age
we must not lose sight of this. Culture, ethics, past
education, the fine arts, sciences, all must bow for the
time to the securing of safety for the men who are
worth while and breeding and rearing of worthwhile
children.
“You ask me what I think? My answer is to start
tomorrow and build a fort, and when that fort is built
start filling it with necessities of life from the cities. It
is going to be the work of months. When it is finished
will be time enough to talk about the luxuries of life, the
culture of the past.”
“I think that some of us ought to go on with our spe-
cial work,” said a man who had been a writer of books.
“For several months I have been writing a history of
this period. I want to go on with it.”
“What is the use of a history if there is no one left
alive to read it?” countered Hubler.
At this point Stafford took the floor.
“I think Hubler has said all there is to say. We are
barbarians living in a stone age and we might as well
{Continued on page 151)
A Sequel to
The Planet of the
Double Sun”
^ The Tripeds all wore atmosphere masks, supplied with the vital gases of respiration
from small tanks worn on their backs
-i-'M
/wll
m
Mi
fim, mm
wm-
120
By Neil R. Jones
/ NIMICAL potvers seemed to wield uncanny powers which caused number-
less beings visiting the Planet of the Double Sun to commit suicide and homi-
cide among themselves under obviously irresistible hypnotic influence. Now our
famous and much-liked Professor Jameson, whose metal-encased brain alone is
able to resist this "'suggestion/' has found the means of discovering the secret of
this power and has the author tell us, in graphic pictures, the explanation of the
mysterious, wholesale destruction.
Illustrated by MOREY
Prologue
I T was Professor Jameson’s theory that all isolated
material within the vacuum of space between
worlds, whether organic or inorganic, endured for-
ever. With this idea in mind, he built a special,
funeral rocket for himself, leaving orders after his
death to the effect that his body be placed within the
rocket and shot into space. Upon his death in 1950, his
nephew, Douglas Jameson, secretly executed the order in
the will. Cast into the depths of space, the rocket be-
came a satellite of the earth.
Forty million years later, when all life has become
extinct upon the earth, and the atmosphere has nearly
wasted away, a space expedition from Zor, a far off
planet of the universe, discovers the professor’s rocket
containing his dead body. Professor Jameson’s corpse
is found perfectly preserved.
The members of the expedition are machine men, crea-
tures who ages ago achieved immortality by removing
their brains from flesh and blood bodies to machine
counterparts. Their general appearance is a metal
cubed body upheld by four jointed, metal legs. Their
upper appendages consist of six metal tentacles while
their cubic bodies are surmounted by metal heads.
These heads are equipped with a complete circle of me-
chanical eyes, a supplementary eye looking straight up-
ward from the peak of the head. They converse by
means of a high system of mental telepathy.
The machine men remove Professor Jameson’s brain
from his body, stimulating it into activity once again and
placing it in one of their machines. In this manner. Pro-
fessor Jameson is recalled to life, and he becomes a
Zorome, an immortal machine man. He embarks with
the expedition upon a life of eternal exploration and ad-
venture among the suns and worlds of cosmic space.
In their travels, they come upon the planet of a double
sun, one of four such planets belonging to the system.
One sun is blue ; the other one, orange. Weird, birdlike,
phantom creatures upon this mysterious world wiped out
by hypnotic suggestion all of the Zoromes except Pro-
fessor Jameson. His mind is impregnable to their sub-
conscious urgings. Professor Jameson, alone in the
space ship, passes through the upflung residue of a gi-
gantic volcano. The space craft is thrown out into
space beyond the planet’s nearer attraction, its mecha-
nism disabled. It becomes a satellite of the double suns.
Professor Jameson, the immortal machine man, is des-
tined to a perpetual existence of undying loneliness. He
is left to meditate upon the strange suicides of his fel-
low Zoromes, and to ruminate upon the strange bones
of an extinct race of Triped creatures found upon the
planet of the double sun.
CHAPTER I
A Derelict of Space
Y ears passed down the hallways of time and into
the dim, eternal past. The wrecked space ship
containing its lone, immortal passenger still pur-
sued its lonesome orbit around the bi-luminaries
between the first and second of the four planets of the
double sun. It had been upon the first world, the planet
nearest the double sun, where the lamentable extinction
of Professor Jameson’s companions had occurred.
121
122
AMAZING STORIES
Three diversions were left the professor to furnish
him occupation. He mulled over the past, he contem-
plated the future, and his third, and perhaps most en-
tertaining, diversion was the use of the powerful tele-
scopes with which the space ship was equipped. The
telescopes represented a boon to him. With their lens
he examined all four of the planets, the supermagnifiers
bringing into life-size semblance all details upon the first
two worlds. The telescopes served to pass the time more
quickly, and the professor was less mentally irked by the
centuries of solitude he was forced to endure than might
have been the case.
Time and again Professor Jameson had attempted the
futile task of repairing the wrecked machinery of the
interplanetary craft. It was to no. avail. The mecha-
nism was wrecked, broken, and beyond repair. The mas-
ters who had created it were dead, victims of the evil
phantoms, driven to suicide and murder by hypnotic
promptings of an irresistible, insidious nature.
Sleep the professor knew not. Sleep would have been
a blessing, freeing temporarily his mind from the mo-
notony of existence — the ceaseless existence which was
his. But the machine men were not capable of sleep,
however, and the professor was denied this respite. The
machine men required no food. They had only to live
and live and live. When a part of their metal body
wore out, it was replaced.
If the professor was denied the oblivion of sleep, he
was somewhat compensated by one of his three principal
occupations which served as a substitute for sleep, deep
introspective recollection. Clearly the professor’s past
life stood out before him — even to that initial life when
he had been an earthman, a flesh and blood creature.
Recollection of the past was to him a soothing tonic, re-
laxing his mind into a coma, its nearest, possible ap-
proach to sleep. Contemplation of the future, requiring
more of a mental effort, seemed not so restive. But to
dwell in the past — that was different.
Often the professor’s thoughts would wander back to
his old home in the little village of Grenville where he
had been a studious scientist of meteorology. He had
also experimented with radium, conducting his experi-
ments in conjunction with his interest in rockets. The
latter hobby had been responsible for his present condi-
tion. Otherwise his bones would have moldered to dust
some forty millions of years past.
How uncanny it all seemed. Here in the wrecked
space ship of the Zoromes, many millions of light years
from his planet Earth, now a dying world. Professor
Jameson looked back with amazing clarity upon the
scenes of some forty million years ago. But then — most
of that time he had been dead — his memories impressed
indelibly upon his brain.
Within the rerhote chambers of his memory the pro-
fessor once more lived over his earthly existence. He
forgot his deplorable situation, forgetting that he was a
machine man — immortal — known among his fellow Zo-
romes as 21MM392. Once more he was in a gay, throb-
bing world, his ears attuned to the laughter of sentient
beings. He became oblivious to his solitude.
And so Professor Jameson dreamed away the cen-
turies of his loneliness within the wrecked space ship
when he was not gazing through one of the telescopes.
The latter were extremely invaluable to him. With
them, he learned many things which served to render his
position and future a lighter one in prospect.
An examination of the second planet had brought
forth -a startling discovery which careful watching later
verified. The second planet was inhabited by the Tri-
peds. They represented a vast population living upon
all sections of the globe. There were other creatures on
this second planet, but the Tripeds dominated. The
third and fourth planets were much too far away for
minute details to be distinguished by means of the tele-
scopes, and the professor was not certain as to their be-
ing inhabited.
Professor Jameson often pondered the inevitable ques-
tion which had manifested itself on his discovery of the
Tripeds. When he, 2SX-987 and others of the machine
men had found the Tripeds’ bones in the canyon of the
first planet, they had believed them to be the remains of
the inhabitants of that world. There had been literally
thousands of the bleached skeletons scattered in every
direction. Then too, there had been the writing and pic-
tures upon the canyon walls.
To which world did the Tripeds belong? Obviously
they had made their trip across space in some inter-
planetary vehicle. This was another mystery which in-
trigued the professor. He was puzzled by the fact that
he saw no space ships upon the second planet. What
other reason could there be except interplanetary navi-
gation to explain the presence of the Tripeds’ bones on
the first planet and living Tripeds on the second? The
professor discarded the idea as utterly impossible that
two similar races could have sprung up on two separate
worlds. His travels among the planets of the Universe
with the Zoromes had taught him that such an occur-
rence represented the wildest and most remote possi-
bility. Then why were there no space ships ? The pro-
fessor merely shook his metal head and wondered.
By their magnificent cities, which Professor Jameson
viewed through his telescopes, it was evident that the
Tripeds were highly civilized and cultured. Two the-
ories were entertained by the professor. One: the Tri-
peds’ original home had been upon the first planet, but
because of the menace of the phantoms they had jour-
neyed to the second world ; two : the bones in the canyon
of the first planet represented a colonizing expedition
from the second planet. The professor was a bit in-
clined to favor the latter supposition.
Unknown to the Tripeds, the machine man watched
them from far out in space. He also watched the shad-
owy forms flit about the first planet during the double
sun’s eclipses. How well he remembered the eclipse
he had witnessed upon the first world. It had been a
nightmare of horror, the phantoms driving his com-
panions to suicide and death, robbing them of all reason
so that they had wilfully smashed one another’s metal
heads, the only death blow a machine man knows.
Hope
T he professor had come to measure time by means
of the space ship’s revolutions around its orbit
which circled the double suns midway between the first
two planets. Each revolution he counted as a year. His
year was a bit longer than that of the first planet. The
second world’s year was still longer than his own. Since
the space ship had been hurled up and away from the
planet by the volcano, there had passed five hundred and
seventy-one revolutions of his space craft around the
double sun. Year in and year out, the professor watched
THE RETURN OF THE TRIPEDS
123
the Tripeds and their civilization, a silent witness to all
manner of events transpiring upon their world.
Occasionally he examined the first planet, the scene of
his last adventures, but there was little to interest him
on this world. The bones still lay in the canyon, the
great volcano still erupted, and when the blue sun shone
by itself upon any section of the first planet’s oceans the
water animals came out upon the rocks to voice their dis-
mal wails.
Professor Jameson was not destined to remain in his
lonely seclusion until his machine parts wore out and
left him incapable of movement. Fate held a more ac-
tive future for him. Of this the professor himself was
positive, especially so when one day upon the second
planet he described with his telescope an object for which
he had vainly looked these many years. He saw a space
ship.
Had his machine body been possessed of a heart it
would have beaten wildly. He watched the commotion
and excitement about the huge object which he saw
towed from a large building. That it was a space craft
the professor was certain. It was no airship.
The professor had seen the Tripeds’ aircraft many
times before.
Shifting the telescope’s view to other sections of the
planet. Professor Jameson saw similar space craft pre-
paring for flight. Questions assailed him. Where were
they bound? To the first planet — the third — or the
fourth? Perhaps their telescopes had picked out his
lonely, disabled space ship? Why had he never seen
these space ships before in his telescopic travels over the
second planet?
Enigma after enigma piled itself up within the profes-
sor’s mind. All sorts of solutions presented themselves
in a rapid whirl of conflicting possibilities. He must
wait and watch; in the meanwhile, conjecture.
Closely and constantly he watched the semi-circle of
light which marked the rotating globe. The region
where he had seen the space ships passed out of his sight,
and as there seemed to be no activity upon the antijrade
which would point to an interplanetary venture, it was
with a bit of impatience that Professor Jameson waited
for the great ball to slowly turn upon its axis in a com-
plete rotation.
When the second planet had once more rolled around
into a position where his telescope disclosed the land-
scape he had viewed the previous day, he saw with sur-
prise that the space ships, with the exceptions of one,
had gone. There had been eight; only one remained.
Seven of the interplanetary ships had obviously em-
barked into space.
Where were they, and what was their prospective des-
tination ?
The professor sought them in the black, velvety
depths of the cosmic void. They were doubtless in the
vicinity of the second world of the double suns. After
much searching with the powerful telescopes, using first
one and then the other, he discovered several tiny dots
of light. The observing telescope, under the manipula-
tion of the machine man, brought them to large size, re-
vealing the sunlit sides of seven ships of space. He
studied their route of travel. They were coming his way.
Would they discover him.
But then, the first planet also lay in his general direc-
tion too, and it was to this world they were probably
bound.
The Return of the Tripeds
T he seven elongated cosmic flyers were apparently
headed for the first planet. Unceasingly the pro-
fessor watched them, and saw the space craft approach
nearer and nearer as many rotations of the second world
transpired. They had been many days upon their jour-
ney already. How slow their progress in comparison to
the speed of a space ship of Zor. As they came nearer,
his hopes and fears rose. Would they discover his ship
and release him from his plight? Were they possessed
of sufficiently powerful telescopes to pick out his dis-
abled space craft?
The supreme moment upon which the professor had
gambled his hopes finally came. The Triped interstellar
expedition was now at a point which would designate
whether their attentions were focussed upon the first
planet or his helpless space ship. Anxiously he waited
and watched. His anxiety gradually resolved itself into
apprehension, and from apprehension to dismay. At
several thousand miles distance, they passed him and
continued on in the direction of the first planet.
Relaxing his patient vigil, he left the telescope in dis-
appointment. He held one consolation, however.
Sooner or later, he believed, they would find him. It
seemed inevitable now that they had taken to space
navigation. For a long time he gloomily contemplated
the wrecked mechanism in the control room. After a
while the professor turned once again to the telescope to
note the position of the space ships from the second
world. He was surprised. Where there had been seven
he now saw only six. Where was the other one? He
looked sharper. Perhaps it lay behind one of the others.
No, he concluded, after a more careful examination,
there were but six. Where was the seventh? He swung
the telescope slowly about in search of it. A magnified
space ship presently engulfed his field of vision, sur-
prising him with its sudden appearance. It was the
missing craft, and loomed up large in his sight. It was
headed straight for his wrepked ship !
So they had seen the derelict of space after all. And
they were coming to satisfy their curiosity. Not all of
them. Only one came to investigate, intent on joining its
companions later.
For the first time since that far gone day when he had
been vomited from out of the volcano’s lake of fire in
the wildly careening space ship. Professor Jameson ex-
perienced a bit of excitement. The Tripeds were com-
ing to investigate his mysterious craft, now a satellite of
the double sun ! What would they do ? Especially when
they learned that the mysterious craft held an equally
mysterious occupant? What would be their attitude
and conduct toward him? The machine man wondered,
fully alert to cope with any situation which might arise.
He hoped for the best.
The longest moments of his life were those con-
sumed between the moment he discovered the solitary
ship of the Tripeds approaching him and its arrival
alongside the derelict of the Zoromes. Time does not
exist except as an invention of civilization, being merely
a plane along which consciousness moves. Professor
Jameson recollected how his death period of some forty
million years had seemed to him but a few brief mo-
ments.
Certain sections of the disabled space ship were trans-
parent, and the machine man walked before these full in
124
AMAZING STORIES
sight of the other craft to reveal to the Tripeds that the
derelict held a living creature. How could he com-
municate with them, he wondered, now that they knew
him to be within the lonely space craft? He pondered
the question a moment before reaching a decision. He
would try mental telepathy. He was uncertain concern-
ing the receptive abilities of the Tripeds, but he could
try. He knew they used a sound speech, for he had
often watched them talk while viewing the second planet
through one of his telescopes. He put forth a strong
mental suggestion.
“I am a friend.”
He waited a moment and then repeated the sugges-
tion many times.
“I am a friend.”
He waited. Then :
“Do you get my message ? Do you understand ?” He
paused “If so, let me know by maneuvering your
space ship to the other side of mine.”
Professor Jameson waited patiently and expectantly
for some sign which would reveal success in his efforts
at communication. For a moment nothing occurred.
The professor became doubtful. Then the Triped ship
swung around in front of the derelict. They had re-
ceived and understood his telepathic request. He waited
for an answer. Hearing none, he realized the Tripeds’
inability to respond by thought projection. He believed
that were he to see them, he might read their minds.
CHAPTER II
Rescued from Eternity
“1^ ^ Y ship’s mechanism is destroyed,” he told
j\/l them. “Tow me to the planet where you are
1 T X going.”
The professor had no idea as to how they would ac-
complish this, but left the details to their ingenuity. He
was surprised to witness the alacrity and capability with
which they handled the situation. The Tripeds shifted
their space craft back and forth before the cosmic dere-
lict until finally they appeared satisfied with the relative
positions of the two. From the ship of the Tripeds there
projected a long cylinder ending in a broad metal ring.
It touched the side of the wrecked space ship and clung.
The Triped craft moved away with tlie salvaged dere-
lict which was locked into contact with the cylindrical
shaft by magnetism.
The Tripeds’ space flyers had been equipped with
these appliances in the event of an emergency. They
were capable of exerting a strong, magnetic attraction,
and were for the relief of one of their space craft should
it become disabled, necessitating its being towed.
Exultation possessed Professor Jameson as he felt the
Tripeds’ space ship tear his wrecked craft from the orbit
to which it had clung so long, carrying it towards the six
distant space flyers which continued on their way to the
first planet at a reduced speed. They rapidly overtook
the six space ships. Curious eyes watched the strange
machine man who stood in plain view behind the trans-
parent facing of his craft. Little did they guess that for
many generations this weird metal man from another
world and a far gone past had watched them and their
ancestors.
Once more the bevy of space craft swept onward
through the dark, cosmic void towards the first planet of
the bi-colored suns. Bright lights from the seven ships
of the Tripeds shone full upon the wrecked craft, which
one of their number towed behind it. The black of space
was replaced by a soft suffusion of glow which gradually
grew brighter as they penetrated the ocean of atmo-
sphere surrounding the planet.
Once more the bevy of space craft swept onward
through the innermost planet of the double sun. Before,
it had carried fifty-one machine men where now there
was but one. Once more Professor Jameson gazed upon
the unrivalled splendor of beauty limned in double colors
of harmonizing blue and orange. But the machine man
knew this elegance to be but a mockery. A sinister in-
fluence lurked invisible upon this strange world, ready
to wreak havoc with all living creatures, threatening
death and disaster. The indescribable beauty of the
planet represented a veritable siren of death.
Professor Jameson was anxious to communicate with
the Tripeds. The space ship had no more than landed,
when he opened the door and sprang out. He felt he
must warn them at once of the frightful menace of the
phantoms who would exercise their insidious powers
when the orange sun sank below the horizon, leaving its
blue contemporary to shine alone. Perhaps they already
knew of the phantoms. He would soon find out, he
hoped.
Slowly the door in one of the space ships opened, and
a strange, three-legged creature walked out. Professor
Jameson obtained his first view of a living Triped at
close range. The creature possessed three legs and three
arms. The spherical body was surmounted by an oblong
head equipped with three eyes arranged in triangular
fashion. The general color of the Triped was red.
As Triped and Zorome surveyed one another in sur-
prise and curious regard, the Triped being the more
amazed of the two, the rest of the Tripeds emerged from
their space ships. To Professor Jameson’s mechanical
senses of hearing there came a low, gibbering chant of
syllables as the Tripeds conversed among themselves.
The machine man watched them closely, finding to his
satisfaction that he could read their thoughts easily.
The professor made a mental inquiry.
“Why did you come here ?”
This was instantly answered by a concerted bedlam of
sound as the conversation waxed hot. One of the Tri-
peds, evidently a leader, stepped forward. Like the rest
of the Tripeds, he was without clothing of any sort, but
around his neck the red color of his rough skin wa?
marked with green spots. He jabbered for a moment at
the machine man, pointing upward occasionally to the
two solar spheres. The professor paid no attention to
his words. They were incomprehensible. He studied
the Triped ’s mind. It was a bit confusing. The thoughts
of the three-legged creature were a whirling chaos. Evi-
dently he was explaining something — perhaps asking
questions too.
The Tale of Glrg
I F the Triped would only cease talking and concentrate
upon whatever he wished the machine man to know,
he would be understood. Professor Jameson believed.
He told him as much.
“I know not your language. Tell me in your mind
what you would say.”
The Triped resorted to this medium of exchange of
thoughts, his efforts met with success. Translated to
THE RETURN OF THE TRIPEDS
125
words, their conversation would have run like this ;
“Where do you come from, metal man?”
“I came with a space expedition from a far off planet
of another sun. We landed upon this planet. When the
blue sun shone alone, strange hummings and wailings
drove my fifty comrades to kill one another and commit
suicide. What are you here for ? What relation do you
bear to the bones we found scattered about the planet?
They resemble your people.”
“They are our people,” replied the Triped. “They
were killed even as your comrades died.”
“Did you live here originally ?”
“No. The bones you saw were those of a colonizing
expedition. For a long time the members of the expe-
dition resisted the phantoms, but they finally suc-
c?umbed one by one. The second planet is our original
home. Seven hundred years have passed since the great
catastrophe occurred upon this world.”
“Seven hundred years — ^the years of this planet — or
your own world ?”
“Our own world.”
“What is the length of your lives ?”
“An average of two hundred and fifty years.”
“This happened nearly three generations ago?”
“Yes.”
“It has been well over four hundred of your years
since we visited this world, and nearly eight hundred of
this planet’s years. My friends were all killed.”
“As long ago as that?” the Triped queried, plainly
astounded by the machine man’s statement. “Don’t you
ever die?”
“Machine men never die unless their brains are in-
jured or destroyed,” replied Professor Jameson. “Oth-
erwise, we machine men are immortal.”
“Your space ship was discovered a hundred and fifty
years ago by one of our astronomers. At first it was
overlooked as merely a large meteor, and no attention
was paid to it. What happened to your ship ?”
The professor then told his entire story, beginning
with his departure from the earth in a rocket contain-
ing his dead body. He told of the Zoromes, and how he
had become one of them himself, explaining that once he
too had been a flesh and blood creature like the Tripeds,
though dissimilar to them in form. He elucidated to
them the manner in which his companions had all met
their deaths, and how he had narrowly escaped a fiery
finish in the tremendous holocaust of the great vol-
cano, his wrecked space ship being thrown out between
the two worlds to become a satellite of the double sun.
“It is wonderful !” exclaimed the Triped.
The entire group of creatures sat silent, taking in the
thought transmissions of Professor Jameson.
“Why did you wait seven hundred years before re-
turning?” asked the professor. “Didn’t you use space
craft during all that time?”
“That is a story by itself,” explained the Triped,
whose name the professor later learned was Glrg.
“Briefly it is this : Our expedition to this planet was the
second of our initial trips following our conquest of
space and a realization of the ability to journey to other
planets in our system. Living on the second planet (here
the Triped gave voice to a name which sounded to the
professor like Grvdlen), we first of all explored our
moons and the nearer planets. We found the third
planet (Uzblt) devoid of all life. Here upon Trulfk
we found, even as you machine men discovered, a beauti-
ful world. We have never been to the fourth and last
world of our system, Klpfud.”
During the discourse, Glrg constantly referred to the
Tripeds as Grvdlgns. We shall, however, continue to
call them the Tripeds.
“This fourth world is far out in space, I observe,”
commented the professor. “You dared not journey that
far?”
“Not until we felt we were more experienced,” con-
tinued Glrg. “As our planet was overcrowded, and this
one offered such an enticing existence, we decided to
move a large fraction of our population here. We did.
What you found in that canyon represents a good ex-
ample of what happened. As I say, for a long time we
resisted these hypnotic promptings, putting up a hard,
determined fight. It was no use. We finally discovered
these malignant creatures to be within a different dimen-
sion and out of our reach. What remnant of our forces
there were left flew back across space once more to
Grvdlen.”
In rapt attention, the professor followed the story of
Glrg, the Triped. Now he interrupted.
“And since the exodus from Trulfk to Grvdlen, this is
your first trip ?”
“Yes,” replied Glrg. “Even as strange as it may seem,
this is the first time in seven hundred years we have
made a venture into space.”
“Why?”
“Because when our forces came back from Trulfk
they found the home world in a chaos of civil war. The
space ships were destroyed by the radicals along with
other public equipment. The radicals were triumphant,
but their reign ended in anarchy, ruin and disorder. Our
scientific progress degenerated. Only lately have we
built up our civilization to a standard where we redis-
covered the principles of space navigation and built space
craft once more.”
An Oath of Vengeance
1 WATCHED through many long years your gradual
rebuilding of civilization,” stated Professor Jameson.
“Of course, I did not understand a great deal of what I
saw.”
“You watched us?” queried Glrg.
“The space ship of the Zoromes is equipped with pow-
erful telescopes. For more than five hundred years I
have watched your progress.”
“It must have been interesting.”
“Though lonely,” added the machine man. “Until I
saw your thriving world and associated your people with
the bones in the canyon, I believed myself doomed to
eternal solitude within my wrecked space flyer. When
I saw your civilization upon the second planet, I be-
lieved that some time you would come and find me.”
“Your beliefs were not ill founded,” said Glrg. “For
a long time we have seen through our telescopes your
space ship traveling upon an orbit beyond ours, but we
scarcely believed it to contain anything living.”
“I have not yet asked you why you have come back
to this first planet,” said Professor Jameson. “Don’t
you fear the phantoms?”
“Not now!”
“Why so?”
“We are prepared! Our mission is one of ven-
geance !”
126
AMAZING STORIES
"Upon the phantoms?”
“Yes!”
“But they are intangible — inaccessible.”
“Not to us now,” spoke Glrg with confidence. “We
are going to rid this planet of their hideous presence.
Then we shall colonize it once more.”
“But how can you come into actual grips with them ?”
asked the professor. “Our destroying ray did no good
in achieving that purpose, and our ray will disintegrate
any known element.”
“We shall enter their dimension and destroy them!”
exclaimed Glrg.
The professor gasped.
“Enter their dimension?”
“Yes!”
“Have you discovered a way ?”
'“We have!”
“But what of their hypnotic powers? Will they not
kill you off even as those who came before you died ?
“We have provided against that,” stated Glrg. He
turned to a subordinate and spoke a few words, and
again addressed the machine man. “I shall demonstrate
to you.”
The subordinate returned with a queer headgear which
Glrg placed upon his head. A strap went in under his
chin. From the top of the strange looking hat projected
four glistening knobs coated with an iridescent metal.
“We are all equipped with these hypnotic nullifiers,
or mind protectors,” said Glrg, “and the hypnotic forces
of the phantoms (here Glrg gave voice to a sound which
described the phantom bird folk of the invisible dimen-
sion as ‘Emkls’) will have no effect upon us whatever.
We have equipment which will send us into the Emkls’
dimension, and then we shall kill them off.”
“But it will be an unknown world,” argued Professor
Jameson, “and you know not what dangers may beset
your path.”
“Nevertheless, we’ll chance it!” stated Glrg ada-
mantly. “We shall have revenge upon these accursed
devils, and rid this otherwise beautiful world of their
evil scourge!”
Some of the fires of Glrg’s vengeful feelings reached
Professor Jameson. He visualized, as he had visualized
many times during his solitude within the space ship, his
friends, the Zoromes, succumbing to the vicious lure of
the Emkls. Once again he saw his companion, 25X987,
taking the fatal leap; he remembered how 149Z-24 had
frantically sought to kill him; he recollected how many
more of the Zoromes had either taken off their heads and
smashed them down into the canyons or else leaped into
the chasms head first. Now that it lay within his power,
he, too, was inspired with revenge, a cold, calculating
revenge, however.
“May I go with you?” he asked.
“Of course — ^if your metal body will undergo the
transition.”
“Good,” stated the machine man. “I, too, have a per-
sonal score to settle with these Emkls.”
He looked upward to where the suns shone benignly
upon the world of Trulfk.
“You will soon have an opportunity to test your hyp-
notic nullifiers,” he informed the Tripeds. “Look.”
The three-legged inhabitants of Grvdlen followed the
direction of the machine man’s waving tentacle with
their triangular arranged eyes. The orange sun neared
the sky line. It would soon vanish beneath the horizon.
The Hypnotic Nullifiers
T he reign of the blue sun would usher in a dismal
period of horror in which there would come melan-
choly hummings and wailings from an invisible world
about them. Strange, terrible promptings of an insidi-
ous nature would attempt breaking the morale of living
beings, bending their will to involuntary suicide and
murder. The creators of these abominable manifesta-
tions were invisible except at a time when the orange sun
eclipsed its blue contemporary. At such a time they be-
came partially discernible to their prey.
Professor Jameson now listened to the excited conver-
sations of the Tripeds which he did not understand. In
and out of the space craft they scurried, donning the
mind protectors which would render them impregnable
to the irresistible urgings of the hellish creatures they
were unable to see. The orange sun’s burnished disc
sank out of sight beyond the distant hills. In the deep
blue light there now stole over the group a depressing
mood of ill-omened fatalism.
“We have no paraphernalia to protect you,” stated
Glrg to Professor Jameson. “I shall be glad to protect
you by locking you in one of the space ships with several
of the crew, however.”
“I need no protection,” replied the machine man. “In
brain structure I am as unlike the Zoromes as they were
unlike you. The Emkls do not represent a menace to me
no matter how hard they try. That has been proved.”
A low humming drone sang upon the air. The Tri-
peds commenced to chatter among themselves excitedly.
“Silence!” ordered Glrg.
The humming grew in volume. Now it was punctu-
ated by a sad, drawn-out wail. The Tripeds and the
machine man waited, watching one another to see
whether or not any hypnotic effect was registered among
them,
“We must make this a thorough test,” said Glrg.
“Free your minds of any resistance. Leave them open
to suggestion. We must be assured of our headgear’s
invulnerability.”
The rest of the Tripeds immediately complied with
their leader’s suggestion, patiently waiting. The hum-
ming became more intense and sustained, the wails
shrieking down among the expedition from Grvdlen, the
weird calls becoming more insistent.
“I wonder if they see us?” queried Professor Jame-
son. “I’ve often wondered whether or not they pos-
sessed this faculty during the sole reign of the blue sun.”
“I believe they do,” opined Glrg. “It is handed down
among the Tripeds that the Emkls really do see this di-
mension during the period of blue sunlight, though no
one ever knew for sure.”
All during the reign of the blue sun up until the
shroud of darkness settled over Trulfk the Tripeds sat
and waited patiently to discover the qualities of their
mind protectors. Glrg appeared satisfied.
“They are a success,” he concluded.
Professor Jameson was taken into the various space
ships and shown the equipment which the Tripeds had
brought from their world to carry into combat against
the Emkls.
“Are you sure the Tripeds will be able to return from
the dimension of the Emkls as easily as they go?”
“Yes,” replied Glrg. “All that is necessary to effect a
return is to reverse the action of the mechanism in our
THE RETURN OF THE TRIPEDS
127
transition cube. Half of us will remain here. The rest
will enter into the world of the Emkls.”
“Will there be communication back and forth?”
“No,” replied the Triped. “All communications will
be cut off.”
For several days Professor Jameson roamed the planet
of the double sun with his new found acquaintances, the
Tripeds. Once more they viewed the mute bones of their
three-legged predecessors. They also found wrecked
and twisted parts of metal belonging to the Zoromes.
During this time, the Tripeds made their plans and pre-
pared for an entrance into the other dimension, the habi-
tat of the sinister Emkls. The day finally arrived when
all preparations were completed.
Professor Jameson, with his three-legged companions,
stood before a huge, cubic compartment of transparent
material through which the two suns spread their blue
and orange rays.
“The air has been pumped from the chamber,” an-
nounced Glrg.
By this time, the professor had learned the rudiments
of their speech, and was enabled to understand them
both from mental and physical standpoints.
“Are you still insistent in your desire to accompany
half of our expedition into the other dimension?” in-
quired Glrg of the machine man.
“I am,” replied Professor Jameson. “I shall do
everything within my power to further your ends and
aid those who go with me.”
“Very well,” said Glrg. “You will enter the cham-
ber.”
The machine man and forty-two of the Tripeds en-
tered the compartment’s air lock. The Tripeds all wore
atmosphere masks supplied with the vital gases of respi-
ration from small tanks worn on their backs. Professor
Jameson, whose metal body required no air for bodily
sustenance, was without this equipment. He carried,
however, one of the ray guns from the wrecked space
ship of Zor. This, he believed, would come in handy.
CHAPTER III
The Transition Cube
T he air was withdrawn from the air lock, leaving
the machine man and his three-legged allies in a
vacuum. Through the transparent sides of the
hollow atbe they saw the balance of tbe Tripeds watch-
ing them in anticipation of their disappearance into the
invisible dimension.
From several discs at the far end of the chamber,
weird lights of a blue-green intensity were thrown over
the assemblage within the cube. To the eyes of those
about to be transported to another world, the forms of
those outside became vaguer and less sharp of outline
and detail. The Tripeds about the professor seemed to
assume vivid green hues of varying shades. The sides
of the cube were no longer transparent — in fact they
were no longer visible. They had become lost in the
heavy, blue-green haze. The transition to the other di-
mension was having a curious and alarming effect upon
the Tripeds, the machine man observed. They were
staggering about wildly and falling over one another,
slumping downward out of sight to rise no more. He
lost sight of them in the heavy, impenetrable, green lu-
minescence. He saw them disappearing around him one
by one. It was not a case of fading from sight. They
merely dropped out of sight below the level of his feet
somewhere as if the bottom of the cube had opened to
swallow them.
He dropped downward, reaching — ever reaching. His
metal tentacles encountered the glazed surface of the
cube’s interior. For what seemed a long time, the pro-
fessor stood there in this manner. The Tripeds who had
accompanied him within the cube had all disappeared.
Where were they ? What had become of them ?
Had he been transported to the world of the Emkls,
leaving his three-legged companions behind — or was he
the one who had been left behind? As he ruminated
upon the question, one of his roving metal tentacles
brushed in contact with an object which rattled and
scraped against the floor on which he stood. He brought
it forth from out of the green haze to discern its identity.
Within the curls of his tentacles he saw the object to be
a Triped ’s air mask.
The machine man took several steps in the direction
where he knew the nearest wall lay. His metal limbs
stumbled over several more objects. He picked them up,
finding more air masks, mind protectors and other ar-
ticles either worn or else carried by the Tripeds on their
expedition into the dimension of the Emkls.
Suddenly, without warning, the blue-green haze dis-
appeared, and the professor found himself gazing
through the transparent sides of the cube once more.
Outside thronged the Tripeds, those of the expedition
who had been left behind. Within the cube. Professor
Jameson found himself alone, alone except for the va-
riety of objects scattered about the floor of the transi-
tion cube. His forty-two companions were gone. They
were obviously in the other dimension. Why had the
cube failed to send him with them?
Gazing in stupefaction at the array of articles upon
the floor, the solution of the mystery presented itself to
him. The articles left behind by the Tripeds in their
transition into the invisible dimension included every-
thing of metal which they had either worn or else car-
ried. There were metal weapons, air masks, hypnotic
nullifiers, trappings and ornaments. The machine man
even saw a metal ring which he recollected as having
seen around the neck of a Triped.
Meanwhile, as he watched the surprised Tripeds
crowding about outside the metal cube and staring in at
him, he heard the hiss of air as it entered the chamber.
The door was opened and he walked out through the
air lock. Instantly he was assailed by a multitude of
queries from the excited Tripeds who jostled about him
in intense excitement and fearful anticipation.
“Where are they?”
“Are they dead?”
“What happened ?”
“See — their air masks have all been left behind !”
Glrg came to his rescue, silencing the Tripeds and
commanding order. When comparative quiet reigned,
Professor Jameson essayed an explanation. The Tri-
peds strained their mental faculties to receive his rapid
telepathic thoughts as he related the occurrence within
the cube.
“The green haze spread over us — the walls became in-
visible — we could see you no longer! My companions
began dropping out of sight into the floor one by one!
Vrazr, at my elbow, was the first to go ! Then they were
all gone, leaving everything" of metal, including myself !”
128
AMAZING STORIES
“They are in the other dimension !” shouted one of the
Tripeds in excitement.
“Unarmed and without air masks !” cried Glrg in
anxiety, realizing the danger in which his departed com-
panions stood.
“Perhaps the atmosphere of the other world is like
that of this dimension !” offered the professor.
“A possibility of which we are not sure !” exclaimed
Glrg.
“The metal !” shouted Brlx, chief operator of the tran-
sition cube. “Why didn’t the metal enter the other
world with them?”
“Because it is apparent your machine is not capable
of transferring metal to the other dimension,” stated the
machine man. “Inorganic material does not respond to
its forces.”
Another of the Tripeds hurried to the side of Brlx.
“May I suggest that we did not use a sufficient in-
tensity of the rays? Metal is a great deal denser than
material born of organic origin.”
“It appears plausible,” agreed Brlx. “We shall try
again !”
“Are you willing to try. again ?” asked Grig of the ma-
chine man.
“Certainly,” agreed the professor.
The machine man re-entered the cube. The air was
once more pumped out, and as before the blue-green rays
sprang from out of the several discs to envelop the ma-
chine man in a heavy haze. This time it increased to
such an intensity as to make invisible the machine man’s
tentacle before his very eyes.
Into the Blue Dimension
P ROFESSOR Jameson’s senses reeled, and desper-
ately, but in vain, he attempted to maintain a hold
over his faculties. His brain rolled into oblivion, and
his final thought was a truly terrifying one. It suddenly
occurred to him that he stood in danger of being de-
prived of his brain, which, after all, was of organic ori-
gin, leaving his useless metal body in one dimension
while his equally helpless brain progressed to another.
With fear clutching at him, the professor knew no more.
When his senses returned, they were accompanied by
the sensation of a short fall. His metal body appeared
racked by a severe jolt. The intense, blue-green mist
had now faded to a blue translucence through which the
professor commenced to dimly perceive objects which
fell at his feet with distinct thuds. The machine man
instinctively guessed that he was now in the dimension
of the phantom bird folk. As his senses became clearer,
he saw that the objects which had apparently material-
ized about his head and had fallen to his feet were the
metal accoutrements of the Tripeds which they had pre-
viously left behind them.
The professor looked about him. He stood on a hillside.
Above, a blue sun beat down its azure rays. The orange
sun was nowhere in sight, evidently invisible to this blue
dimension. He looked for his friends. Their recum-
bent forms twisted in various poses upon the sward
rested where they had fallen. Instantly the phenome-
non of the Tripeds dropping through the floor of the
cube, his own experience of falling a short distance, and
the materialization and fall of the metal equipment were
all solved. The surface of the blue dimension at this
point was slightly lower than that of the other world.
It was a contingence which neither the Tripeds nor
Professor Jameson had anticipated. The machine man
disliked dwelling upon the possibilities offered had the
surface of the blue dimension been far enough below
that of the orange and blue dimension to have incurred
a destructive fall. On the other hand, had the conditions
been vice versa, in all probabilities he would have found
himself buried beneath tons of the planet’s strata.
The professor was aroused from his meditations re-
garding the dissimilarities of these respective spheres of
existence by a horrible sight which met his wandering
gaze. A hideous monster on two stilt-like legs was carry-
ing off the body of a Triped. Others of the tall crea-
tures were approaching from out of the distance in long
strides. The long legs were surmounted by grotesque,
fuzzy bodies all out of proportion to the long, thin legs
which upheld them. The body resembled a spider’s ex-
cept that it had no visible head. Indeed, the machine
man could see no eyes — only two waving antennae which
sprang upward from the fuzzy, round body. Two long
claws situated midway between the w’alking appendages
clutched the senseless, perhaps dead, Triped in a firm
embrace.
Swiftly the machine man raced after the weird crea-
ture only to meet with sudden, startling reversement.
On coming close beneath the animal which, though
smaller of body, towered over him, a well directed kick
of the creature’s long leg bowled him over. The fuzzy
monster then attempted an escape but with amazing alac-
rity the machine man wrapped a tentacle about one of
the stilt-like legs. It was a firm hold which his ad-
versary could not break, and Professor Jameson felt
himself dragged across the ground. Two more of the
monstrosities joined the first. Evidently they were com-
ing to reinforce their companion, but the professor
feared them not. He appreciated the invulnerable quali-
ties of the machine body which was his, and realized that
it would take many more than three of the strange ani-
mals to subdue him. What he did fear, however, was
the possibility of their getting away with their prey,
Snrpd, the Triped.
The Menacing Stilt Walkers
A S the two newcomers joined their companion, a sur-
prising occurrence took place. Professor Jameson
looked for some sort of an attack. There was none. In-
stead, the machine man witnessed as unexpected a situa-
tion as had ever occurred in his long life of adventure
and exploration with the machine men of Zor.
The long legs of the creature to which he clung
dropped off as the fuzzy animal transferred his inert
burden to one companion and leaped upon the back of
another. The machine man held within his grasp the
elongated limb of the creature as he watched the three
scurry off in long strides toward a distant forest, his late
adversary clinging to the back of a companion. The
third creature carried the helpless Snrpd.
Professor Jameson wasted no time, but hastily re-
turned to the spot where he had first seen the light of
this blue dimension. He sought for and found the ob-
ject he desired. It was the ray gun. Swiftly he raised
it, pressing the butt. From it there leaped through the
blue sunlight a dull red glow. Cautiously, so as not to
touch the Triped, he directed the destroying light upon
Snrpd’s abductors. The one bearing Snrpd fell in his
THE RETURN OF THE TRIPEDS
129
tracks, releasing the unfortunate Triped. The one bear-
ing the other on his back had his legs cut from under
him. As before, the creature immediately abandoned the
stumps, and the one on his back released its hold. Each
one attempted scurrying off at a slow, awkward gait.
Professor Jameson relentlessly dispatched them, hurry-
ing forward to where they lay.
To his increasing surprise, he found that the long
limbs from which the fuzzy animals became independent
at will were not a part of the creature at all. They were
artificial limbs employed as stilts. Evidently the crea-
tures were of some intelligence.
He hastened to the side of Snrpd, examining him
carefully. Professor Jameson was glad to find the Tri-
ped alive, though unconscious. If he lived, then of
course the rest did. Upon the heels of this thought came
a hail from behind the professor. Turning, he found
Clbg rising weakly to his feet and calling to the ma-
chine man. Others of the Tripeds were stirring and
attempting to rise to their three legs, evidently experi-
encing some difficulty in doing so.
“How do you feel?” asked the professor. “Are you
quite all right ?”
"I feel dizzy and weak,” explained Clbg as he essayed
to stand upon his feet.
“How do your lungs react to the air here?” inquired
the machine man anxiously. “Can you continue to
breathe this atmosphere safely?”
“My lungs appear to be functioning without any added
effort,” replied the Triped. “The air has a vague, sweet
odor. It is strange. My limbs seem cramped as if I
had fallen.”
“You did fall,” stated the machine man.
“I did?” queried Clbg in surprise. “Prom where?”
“From the other world.” And the professor went on
to explain the slight difference in elevations of the two
dimensions at this point.
The remainder of the Tripeds collected around Clbg
and Professor Jameson. Soon, Snrpd, unaware of the
recent tragedy enacted, in which he was a principal fig-
ure, came limping over to the group. In turn, the ma-
chine man questioned them all concerning physical re-
actions following the transition to the blue dimension.
He then related to them how it had taken two attempts
on the part of Brlx to send him and the Triped’s metal
accoutrements into the world of azure sunlight. He also
pointed to the remains of the three fuzzy stilt walkers
some distance away, relating the episode concerning the
capture of Snrpd.
A humming drone broke in upon their conversation.
There followed a piercing wail.
“The Emkls !” shouted a Triped warningly.
“Your hypnotic nullifiers!” shouted the professor
above the rising tide of excitement. “Put them on !”
In mad haste the Tripeds donned their protective
paraphernalia which lay scattered over the nearby turf,
and which had entered the blue dimension with the ma-
chine man. From the headgear of each Triped there
glistened four knobs of oddly changing colors.
Turning the Tables
T he Tripeds gripped their strange weapons which
the machine man had seen them use so effectively
time and again within the last few days prior to their
entrance into the blue dimension. The guns used
charges of energy as ammunition. When one of these
charges hit an object, the latter exploded.'
From down out of the sky there soared fully a score
of the huge, birdlike creatures on their leathern wings.
They reminded Professor Jameson of bats. They re-
sembled them somewhat in certain particulars.
“Don’t shoot at them until they fly low about us,” ad-
monished the machine man. “Then we’ll get them all.”
Patiently they waited. The phantom creatures were
no longer phantoms. They represented grim reality.
Their figures showed up clear and black against the azure
sky. With dismal wails and a constant humming, they
circled the group of explorers and avengers from the
world of the orange and blue suns. Within their cryp-
tic wails. Professor Jameson sensed vaguely the insis-
tent urging they were exerting upon these bold invaders
who had so rashly penetrated the fastness of their hith-
erto inaccessible domain.
The Emkls flew lower and lower, apparently sur-
prised at the futility of their initial efforts at breaking
the morale of these three-legged animals and their metal
companion. The hypnotic promptings were failing to
accomplish their object. The insidious Emkls circled
lower, their great wings flapping dismally upon the air.
Still Professor Jameson abstained from giving the com-
mand to annihilate these malignant creatures.
Finally, one of their number separated itself from the
group and swooped downward over their heads. With
a terrifying wail bordering upon a scream, it passed
above them a short distance. Another and still another
of the Emkls followed the initiative of the first. Clearly
the professor discerned the blank, staring eyes set in the
hideous, round heads. The entire horde of some twenty
Emkls now flapped downward about the heads of the
Tripeds. Professor Jameson gave the order to attack.
From the weapons of the Tripeds there burst forth a
series of shots into the onrushing Emkls. Pandemo-
nium reigned as the shots took effect. The wails and
humming turned to screeches of pain and rage which
were silenced as explosion after explosion exterminated
the Emkls. They were literally blown to pieces. The
few Survivors strove to escape the devastating weapons
of the Tripeds.
Previously, the Emkls had been all-triumphant. Se-
cure in their own dimension, intangible to the creatures
of the other dimension, they destroyed the latter at will
by hypnotism. They had come to take their strange
powers and invulnerability for granted. Safe from at-
tack, lords of all living beings in their own world, they
had never dreamed of danger to themselves. Now it had
come to them. They were no longer inaccessible to their
enemies.
Four Emkls, rising ever higher in the air, wailed and
screeched their way on wing above the invaders. From
Professor Jameson’s ray gun there shot a lurid glare
which settled upon the lowest of the four escaping
Emkls. Without another cry, half destroyed by the dis-
integrating qualities of the machine man’s weapon, the
creature plunged to the ground. The three remaining
Emkls were now beyond range of the deadly weapons
employed by both the machine man and the Tripeds.
Their faint cries now dwindled away, and their specks
became lost below the horizon.
“Our first taste of revenge !” shouted Dnkt.
“And sweet, too !” spoke Ravlt in elation.
“We’ll kill their entire population!” said another.
130
AMAZING STORIES
“We must send someone back to report to Glrg and
Brlx !” announced Snrpd.
“And bring back two airships,” added Professor
Jameson. “There is room for two within the cube if
one side is opened for their entrance. Two will be suffi-
cient for our needs at present.”
Ravlt, in joint command with the machine man, picked
two of the Tripeds to enter back into the dimension of
the other world to report their condition and bring back
aircraft with which to carry on the fighting against the
Emkls.
“We shall soon receive a signal from Brlx,” stated the
professor. “Prepare to send our messengers back at
once.”
“Dlb and Ldgz will go,” said Ravlt.
“A platform must be built,” informed Professor
Jameson, “so that Dlb and Ldgz will be upon a level with
the cube.”
The platform was soon built, and the two Tripeds
mounted it, waiting for the return to their own dimen-
sion. It had been previously arranged with Glrg and
Brlx that at regular intervals the action of the transition
cube would be reversed so as to afford periodic returns to
the blue and orange dimension.
At the predetermined time, the invaders of the blue
dimension witnessed a startling transformation about
the two Tripeds who waited patiently upon the platform.
The intense green hue of the cube surrounded them,
gradually rendering their shapes fainter in outline until
eventually they disappeared. Only a thick, green haze of
cubic dimension remained. Suddenly this, too, dis-
appeared, leaving only the empty platform the Tripeds
had built.
CHAPTER IV
Air Raiders
T he Tripeds and machine man saw no more of the
Emkls or the fuzzy animals who employed stilts
in their perambulations. In fact, none of the in-
habitants of the blue dimension were seen since the de-
parture of the Emkls to the time the blue sun sank to rest
below the horizon.
Night reigned. Strange groups of stars which Profes-
sor Jameson had never seen before came out to set the
sky atwinkle. No nocturnal sounds disturbed the tran-
quillity. All was silence.
In the midst of the darkness there suddenly shone a
green cube whose brilliant hue increased, presenting an
opaque wall of green against the night sky. The Tripeds
jabbered excitedly. The professor knew that it heralded
the return of Dlb and Ldgz with the aircraft. As the
green light disappeared, there hung above them in the
air two long, pointed airships ready for flight. The two
Tripeds, Ldgz and Dlb, brought the ships gently to the
ground.
The machine man and his three-legged companions
waited patiently for the dawn. They would then cruise
over this strange world to w'hich they had been trans-
ported by the scientific sorcery of the transition cube.
At last they had come to grips with the Emkls, those
wwaiths who had spread their hypnotic scourge across the
portals separating two dimensions, the blue from the
orange and blue.
“We are certain that one of our previous theories has
been exploded,” said Professor Jameson.
“And what is that?” asked Snrpd,
“The world of Trulfk from where we just came is no£
visible to us from this dimension as we had supposed.”
“But the Emkls appear to encounter no difficulty in
seeking us out.”
“True,” agreed the machine man. “The Emkls must
be possessed of an occult sight akin to their hypnotic
qualities which would enable them to look into the other
dimension when the blue sun shines alone,”
Dawn came with a blue, luminous flush of light. Then
up above the skyline there rose the azure orb visible to
both dimensions. Professor Jameson wondered whether
or not the orange sun had risen. There was no way
of telling, in view of the fact that the orange sun was
invisible in this dimension.
“We are ready,” announced Ravlt.
“Divide the forces, and man the ships,” counselled
Professor Jameson. “It is best that we be off at once.
Let the two ships remain together. We must not take
the chances of becoming separated.”
The final preparations were made and the two air-
ships arose into the blue sky. The machine man stood in
command of one while Ravlt commanded the other. To-
gether, the two ships cruised out over the planet of the
blue dimension. They signalled back and forth in re-
gard to their route of travel, outstanding features of
topography, the lighter density of the atmosphere in
comparison to the air of Trulfk, and other topics.
The terrain over which they flew at a high altitude un-
derwent no appreciable changes as they progressed.
There were the same forests, hills, dales and occasional
waterways. No life was visible. Not once did they see
either of the two types of animals they knew to exist
upon this world. Of course, they were unable to per-
ceive what the dark, thick forests cloaked.
The machine man, peering far ahead of their course
with a telescope, caught sight of a queer arrangement of
dark mounds a considerable distance to the right of the
course they were pursuing. He quickly notified Ravlt,
and both ships swung in that direction, picking up an
increased speed.
As they approached nearer, dark specks were visible
flying about over the dark domes which arose to quite a
towering height.
“The Emkls!” announced Ravlt.
As they came closer, another discovery was made.
“There, Snrpy, are the kind of creatures into whose
hands you fell,” informed the machine man.
Snrpd was appalled. About the avenues laid between
the black mounds walked the round, fuzzy animals on
their stilts. Some of them ambled along awkwardly
without the walking poles.
“An Emkl city I” cried Dlb, “See how they fly in and
out of the dark houses !”
Professor Jameson saw that this was true as he no-
ticed several of the Emkls emerge from apertures in the
sides of the black mounds. At his side, Snrpd offered
a plausible observation.
“The long-legs are allies of the Emkls — ^they live to-
gether.”
Hell Breaks Loose
T he Emkls now perceived the two airships heading
toward their city, and with excited cries and wails
drew the attention of those below on the ground. From
every one of the high mounds, and there were several
THE RETURN OF THE TRIPEDS
131
thousand of them, there poured forth a black, flapping
horde of the repulsive Emkls rising upward with cries
in which were blended curiosity, suspicion and animosity.
Their concert of wails and continuous humming arose
like a veritable bedlam about the ears of the invaders.
Straight for the two oncoming airships they flew.
“Fire into them!” shouted Ravlt as the black cloud
bore down upon the aircraft.
Explosion after explosion rocked the air as the two
ships threw a steady barrage into the overwhelming
ranks! A steady stream of Emkls arose from all sec-
tions of the city! For every one shot down, five were
ready to assume its place ! The rapid fire did not check
their approach ! On they came !
“Rise to a higher strata of the atmosphere !” ordered
Professor Jameson, taking a quick grasp of the situa-
tion. “Quick ! Before they are upon us !”
The operators of the two ships were quick to follow
the suggestion. Up they shot, skyward ! In that mo-
ment, the Emkls, like a destructive mantle, were all about
the two airships so that the blue sunlight took on the
semblance of twilight. The guns of both ships kept spit-
ting continuously, their silent messengers of death lodg-
ing in some portion of an Emkl where their silence was
soon broken by dull explosions. The torn and mutilated
bodies of the creatures then hurtled to the ground. Dur-
ing the terrible massacre, the black domes of the city
were literally bathed in the blood of their owners.
The Emkls, it was apparent, lacked not for courage.
They rushed fearlessly to the center of the conflict in un-
believable, overwhelming numbers, their screaming,
buzzing ranks soaring and flapping about the two ships
of the Tripeds which were now being guided up and out
of the living, flying, wailing horde.
Ravlt’s craft was slightly above that of the machine
man’s. Both were rising through the almost solid mass
of Emkls with the utmost difficulty. The wailing and
humming of the loathsome, bird creatures became a
screeching roar in the ears of the Tripeds. Well might
they be glad of the mind protectors they wore.
Professor Jameson had now lost sight of Ravlt’s ship,
hidden as it was by the flitting forms of the Emkls.
[There rang in his ears a cry which at once increased his
anxieties and fears.
“We are falling!” shouted one of the Tripeds.
“Put on more speed upward!” ordered the machine
man.
“Impossible !”
“The ship is loaded down with Emkls !”
“Our upward speed is at its highest notch !”
“Blow them off!”
“Hurry — before we crash!”
The three-legged gunners fired into the clinging swarm
of Emkls which hung tenaciously to the airship. The
latter were bringing it down rapidly. Many of them
were blown to bits, but always there were more to take
the place of those killed.
With a terrific impact the airship struck. The
mingled sound of rending bones and crushed flesh came
to the ears of the Tripeds as those of the Emkls hang-
ing to the bottom of the airship were smashed flat.
There were also casualties among the Tripeds. With
the exceptions of a bent leg. Professor Jameson found
himself intact. The Tripeds arose drunkenly, many of
them having sustained several injuries. Two were dead.
The rest took themselves alongside the machine man.
ready to repel the attacks of the fierce creatures into
whose city they had fallen.
The Emkls labored desperately to enlarge a gaping
hole in the side of the ship. With his disintegrating ray,
Professor Jameson, machine man of Zor, burnt a hole
through their ranks. With a cheer, the Tripeds saw the
Emkls drop swiftly back. But the respite was only for
a moment. They renewed their efforts to enter through
the jagged hole which had resulted from the crash in
spite of the terrible ray. Such an attempt represented
rank suicide, for they were destroyed instantly.
A muffled explosion within the airship caused the pro-
fessor to turn suddenly about. Snrpd had blown to bits
an Emkl about to spring upon the machine man.
“They are coming in through the front of the ship !”
howled Snrpd as another of the winged devils closed
upon him.
It was the last word Snrpd ever uttered. His head
was immediately snapped off by the Emkl which sprang
upon him. More of the winged inhabitants of the blue
dimension were pouring in behind their companion.
Professor Jameson saw the swift assault which termi-
nated Snrpd’s career, but he dared not leave his post.
The Emkls were crowding about outside the hole, wait-
ing for a chance to enter, no matter how desperate the
chance. They seemed to hold no fear of death.
Death’s Feast
T he remaining Tripeds leaped forward to the attack,
hurling back for a brief moment the Emkls who,
with folded wings, strode down upon them menacingly.
The airship was filled with a humming and wailing as the
Tripeds and Emkls closed with one another in mortal
combat, the Tripeds going down beneath the greater
physical violence of the overpowering number of Emkls.
They were surging into the ship from the forward deck
so rapidly that the machine man recognized the futility
of holding the other entrance longer against invasion.
Dropping the ray gun, he sprang among the fighting
Emkls and Tripeds, working his way to a position where
the winged attackers were the most numerous. Six
metal tentacles whipped themselves about six Emkls,
crushing them slowly in a terrible embrace.
Professor Jameson experienced a keen satisfaction in
the act as there sprang to his mind the memory of 25X-
987, 149Z-24, 69B-496, 8B-52 and many more of the ma-
chine men of Zor. They had all died at the hands of
these damnable creatures who were now tasting the re-
venge of a Zorome.
The Tripeds, spattered with the blood of their fierce
fighting adversaries, now panted in exhaustion as Pro-
fessor Jameson squeezed the life from the six wretched
Emkls he held within his powerful tentacles, strategic-
ally blocking the passage from any further inroad of the
dread monsters. The latter howled their rage and beat
frantically upon their dying comrades in an effort to
shove past.
Only three of the Tripeds were left. The crashing
of the airship and the subsequent battle had taken toll
of the rest.
“We are lost!” shouted Dlb. “See!” He pointed to
the hole in the airship’s side where the machine man had
recently repulsed an attack from this quarter so effec-
tively with the ray gun. Through the enlarged open-
ing there came an Emkl, followed by another and an-
132
AMAZING STORIES
other. At their backs surged a countless throng of the
fierce combatants.
“Fight to the death !’’ shouted Rmk, resolutely throw-
ing himself into the attack. He blew up two of the hide-
ous, winged monsters before his weapon was wrested
from him and he was forced to close with the over-
whelming horde.
The machine man released the six dead Emkls and
came to grips with new arrivals, seeking new victims.
Into the airship there rushed another stream of the in-
sidious inhabitants of the blue dimensions. In reckless
abandon they stumbled over the corpses of their fallen
compatriots. Professor Jameson found plenty of work
for his tentacles. The three Tripeds had gone down
almost immediately following the last, defiant cry of
Rmk. As he had urged them, so had they done. They
had all died as brave Tripeds, fighting to the last.
Professor Jameson, seeing that his companions had all
been killed, hunted for his ray gun. He could not find
it. The weapon lay somewhere beneath the pack of
dead Tripeds and Emkls. Knowing that little could be
accomplished here, and that the airship had become a
concentration point of attack, he immediately jumped
through the torn side of the airship and into the vast as-
semblage of the Emkls waiting outside.
They were all around him. ' Leaping upon him, they
bore him down ere he had taken more than five steps
from the wrecked craft. He snapped shut his mechani-
cal eye shutters as he felt strong jaws rasping effectively
against his metal head. One of his metal tentacles was
wrenched from his body. With the remaining five he
threshed about him wildly, and many an Emkl was
knocked over with a crushed skull or other mortal in-
jury. The machine man was seized by many of them,
and even his unparalleled strength was insufficient to
prevail against their overwhelming numbers.
The airship had fallen in an open space among several
of the black domes. In fact, it had grazed one of the
buildings in its descent, leaving a great scar from sum-
mit to base.. Far above him. Professor Jameson saw
the ship of Ravlt’s command as a tiny dot upon the sky.
The Emkls had abandoned the attack upon it, and the
ship now rode solitary and unhampered far above the
city.
Through the wailing, surging, threatening mass of
Emkls the professor was borne. He perceived many of
the fuzzy creatures among the crowd, some of them on
their stilts and others without them.
Ravlt’s ship was now dropping small objects from its
position above the Emkl city. They loomed larger as
with a swift momentum they fell upon the towering,
black domes, exploding and casting their contents in all
directions. The city was being bombed. The explo-
sives fell thick and fast, some in the streets between the
domes while others exploded upon the tops of those
structures which they chanced to hit. The Emkls ap-
peared but little perturbed by this offense tactic. A few
circled upward toward the airship of the Tripeds which
was now on high and well out of the possibility of an-
other mass attack. Those of the Emkls who were so
fearless and reckless as to venture near were promptly
blown out of the sky.
Victory
T he machine man was borne onward towards the
center of the city. Suddenly he felt his captors’
steps falter as their wailings took on a different note.
The Emkls passed through three stages of emotional at-
titude. They became curious — then frightened — finally
frantic. Releasing the professor, they rushed about pell
mell as if seeking escape from some unseen demon. Pro-
fessor Jameson was dropped abruptly to the street from
which he picked himself up to gaze bewildered at this
new turn of affairs. He sought the cause of it.
All over the city the Emkls had turned riotous, panic
stricken and abandoned to chaos. The machine man
wondered if the bombs had, occasioned it. As a faint,
smoky haze drifted before him upon the atmosphere, he
became aware instantly of the reason for the Emkls’
strange behavior. The bombs had released a poison gas !
The Emkls were falling like stalks of corn before a gale !
In thin wisps the almost invisible vapor curled upward to
assail those of the insidious creatures upon the wing,
choking them and causing them to reel downward to
death.
In the streets the choking, destroying vapor hung like
a pall, reaching into the black, high-domed domiciles of
the Emkls, searching out each innermost corner for vic-
tims. Every living creature that breathed fell before
the onrush of the deadly gas.
Professor Jameson, the machine man, strode through
the city of death, unmolested by the terrible bird mon-
sters into whose hands he had fallen. The streets were
now packed with the corpses of his enemies. Among
them were to be seen the dead bodies of the round, fuzzy
animals as well. One of the latter Professor Jameson
saw posed in a grotesque position of death. With great
long stilts sprawled apart like props, he lay dead up
against the side of a black dome. The machine man
gave one of the stilts a kick, bringing down the lifeless
body into the dust.
Above him the airship soared in the upper air lanes,
keeping well above the heavy, poisonous gas. A few of
the surviving Emkls who had been fortunate enough in
flying above the gas were winging their way toward the
horizon, having seen their comrades die by the thou-
sands. The machine man realized that Ravit would
never dare bring the airship down and pick him up while
the deadly vapor spread by the bombs lay like a shroud
over the city. He also had no idea concerning the length
of time it would take for the dissipation of the gas.
He decided to leave the city, seeking an open spot be-
yond where he might be picked up by the Tripeds.
Through the city streets he made his way, stumbling
over the scattered piles of dead Emkls, wishing he pos-
sessed his mechanical wings at that moment. He had not
brought them with him. They were left behind in the
orange and blue dimension, reposing in the wrecked
space ship.
Passing the last cluster of dark mounds, he found
himself upon the outskirts of the city. He now put a
good distance between himself and the silent assemblage
of black domes, noting with satisfaction that those in the
airship had divined his intentions and were following
him, the airship hovering lower. Finally, having cleared
the vicinity of the life destroying gas, the Tripeds de-
scended and picked him up.
“Are you all right ?’’ inquired Ravit.
“One tentacle missing is all,’’ replied the machine man.
“The rest of my ship’s company were wiped out.’’
“So we saw before we let fly with the gas bombs,”
said Ravit. “You’re lucky to be a machine man. Other-
THE RETURN OF THE TRIPEDS
133
wise the Emkls would have done for you just as easily.”
“The bombs did their work well,” commended the pro-
fessor. “The entire city’s population is wiped out. The
streets are literally choked with the dead.”
“We should have resorted to the gas bombs in the first
place,” spoke Ravlt in self-reproach. “Then we should
not have lost half of our forces.”
“The price of over confidence and curiosity,” stated
the machine man. “It is a lesson we shall not forget.”
“What terrible fighters they were !” exclaimed Kvsb as
the ship gained altitude. “How cheaply they held life,
and how ferociously they attacked.”
“Nevertheless, they learned to keep away from our
ship after a while.”
“What shall we do now?” asked Professor Jameson.
“I believe the best thing to do is return to our own
dimensions and come back reinforced to attack the other
Emkl strongholds we may find,” advised Ravlt.
And so they headed back across the world of the blue
dimension toward the spot where they had entered it.
The sun was now at its zenith. They cruised low in or-
der to scan the topography. Once on the far horizon
they perceived the black domes of an Emkl city.
“We’ll attend to that at a later date,” said Ravlt.
CHAPTER V
Ghosts of the Past
T hey were returning to their starting point by a
different route than the one they had taken on
coming to the city of the Emkls, and now they
gazed upon physiographical peculiarities which they had
not seen before. The land took a sudden, deep drop into
a broad basin whose other rim lay beyond the horizon.
“A dry sea bottom,” observed Frist.
“Drop lower,” directed Ravlt to the pilot. “Our route
extends across the edge of this depression.”
“It looks lonesome,” commented Professor Jameson,
his eyes scanning the great valley whose other rim lay
out of sight.
“Perhaps it is a gouge taken out of the planet by col-
lision with another cosmic body,” ventured Ravlt.
“Far ahead of them, a little to the right of their course,
there lay another deep drop within the vast valley of
mystery.
“Guide the ship in that direction, and we’ll fly over it,”
ordered Ravlt.
“How deep it is!” exclaimed Frist.
“And wide I” added another.
“As if a great chunk had been cut from the bot-
tom of the basin,” said Ravlt to the professor.
The latter was gazing down into the huge pit with one
of the airship’s telescopes. Some of the Tripeds were
doing likewise.
“The sunlight is fading,” spoke Stn suddenly.
“What? At its zenith?”
“You must be imagining it.”
“Yes I It is 1” affirmed Ravlt, confirming Stn’s dis-
covery. “The blue is changing color near the center of
the sun !”
“An eclipse!” shouted Stn in realization of the actual
truth. “It is an eclipse upon the other world ! The
orange sun is crossing before the blue one !”
Professor Jameson had paid but little attention to the
excited discourse of the Tripeds. Something had
gripped his attention within the depths of the pit. He
gazed fascinated at something upon its bottom.
The mental faculties of the Tripeds were diverted
from their contemplation of the vague change the blue
sun was undergoing as the machine man cast an excited
thought transference into the group.
“Look !” he directed them. “Down in the pit — on the
bottom !”
The professor’s excitement grew. The Tripeds had
never seen him evidence excitement before. Those at
the telescopes followed his pointing tentacles with their
instruments.
“There’s something down in there moving around!”
exclaimed Plmk. “You can hardly see it — so ghostly
looking — I would say,. transparent!”
“Fly the airship down into the pit !” directed the ma-
chine man, an eye still glued to the telescope.
The ship of the Tripeds slowly sank into the depths of
the great depression, Ravlt a bit wary for some sort of
an attack by strange, unknown monsters of the blue di-
mension. As they drifted toward the floor of the pit,
those of the Tripeds who were not equipped with tele-
scopes were enabled to discern moving objects of vague,
dim shape, barely perceptible.
Ravlt muffled a cry of surprise. He caught sight of a
shadowy, fleeting form, recognizing it for what it really
was. He stared in sheer astonishment. The Triped’s
speech faltered, then he stammered in unbounded amaze-
ment.
“Why, it is — a — a machine man — like yourself !”
He pointed a shaking arm at the professor who was
silently gazing at the ghostly forms flitting about on the
floor of the deep pit.
The machine man’s thoughts were not for the three-
legged creatures which surrounded him. The amazing
discovery had for the moment rendered him entirely
oblivious to their presence. His thoughts flew in rapid
communication with the dim, elusive figures grouped
about the pit’s bottom, waiting for the airship to come to
rest.
As the ship bumped gently to the floor of the chasm, it
was apparent that the shadowy figures were machine
men like the professor himself. The blue sunlight had
been supplanted by a yellow haze which appeared to en-
velop the pit. Weird, gliding forms unlike those of the
machine men floated below, above and on all sides of
the airship, entering in and out through the solid sides
of the craft at ease.
The Tripeds talked in awed tones among themselves.
It was evident that the professor was holding communi-
cation with these strange, phantom, machine men so
much like him, yet so transparent and unreal.
“You can see through them!” spoke Ravlt. “They
are not tangible ! See how they walk right through the
sides of the ship !”
“They are not of this dimension!” opined Plmk.
“You mean that they are in the other world?” queried
Ravlt. “The world where our companions await us ?”
“Exactly!”
“But how are they visible to us ?”
“The eclipse — you forget that !” reminded Frist.
“Indeed, that explains it !”
As if in afterthought, Ravlt added: “Why didn’t we
find them on the planet ? They cannot be there. Profes-
sor Jameson would have seen them with his telescopes long
before this — before we found his wrecked space ship!”
134
AMAZING STORIES
The Tripeds shook their heads in perplexity and
awaited an explanation from the professor. They were
not capable of attuning their thoughts to the telepathic
conversation between Professor Jameson and the semi-
visible machine men of Zor.
The professor, at sight of his long lost companions in
the garb of phantom beings of another world, had been
laid by the heels, figuratively speaking, by the sudden,
unexpected discovery. In turn, on seeing 21MM392, the
Zoromes were no less astonished than the professor him-
self.
An Amazing Revelation
P ROFESSOR Jameson saw before him 41C-98,
744U-21, 6W-438, 29G-75, 56F-450 and many others
among the ghosts of the pit.
“Where — where are you ?” he asked. “How did you
get there?”
“21MM392!”
“Yes ! Where are you ?”
“At the bottom of the ocean! And you — are you
really in the world of the phantom birds ?”
“Yes!” The professor’s surprise was beyond descrip-
tion. “Why don’t you emerge from the ocean?”
6W-438, principal spokesman of the group, pointed
in mute reply to the question. His waving tentacle took
in the lofty, towering walls about his companions and
himself.
“We are prisoners of the sea !” supplemented 56F-450.
“We number a full fifteen in this pit of the ocean,”
explained 6W-438. “If you remember, we were part of
the crew detailed by 25X-987 to stay with the space
ship. Compelled by the hypnotic suggestion of those
damnable, bird phantoms, we were driven to what they
believed would be our deaths. When we emerged from
our trance we found ourselves here. That was quite a
long time ago.”
“Over seven hundred revolutions of this planet about
the double suns,” interjected the professor.
“How did you get where you are ?” was the inquiry.
“It is a long story,” replied Professor Jameson. “I’ll
get you out of the sea first ; then I’ll tell you.”
Quickly the professor turned to his three-legged allies
and briefly explained the situation to them. While he
did so, one of the Tripeds gave a sudden exclamation
of surprise.
“They’re gone !” he shouted.
It was true. The machine men had disappeared. So
had the yellow haze with its ghostly marine life. The
eclipse had passed.
On the planet of the double sun, in the blue and orange
dimension, the Tripeds waited anxiously for the return
of their companions, who with the machine man, had
ventured into the dimension of the Emkls. At regular
intervals they set the transition cube’s mechanism work-
ing. Since Dlb and Ldgz had returned and gone once
more with the airships, relating the story of their initial
skirmishes with the stilt walkers and the Emkls, there
had been no communication or manifestation from the
expedition. The Tripeds were becoming a bit impatient,
and had nearly decided on sending a new force into the
blue dimension to ascertain the reason for the protracted
absence of those under Ravlt and Professor Jameson.
Brlx interrupted the plans by calling their attention
skyward. “The suns are nearing one another! There
will be an eclipse !”
“Don your hypnotic nullifiers !” ordered Glrg. “We’ll
now be able to see into this other world I”
Above them, the Emkls materialized out of mere noth-
ingness, and with dismal wails and incessant humming
flew about over their heads. The Tripeds looked in vain
for their friends but could see no trace of them. The
eclipse lasted but a short time, and the ghostly shapes of
the Emkls became faint, then disappeared. Their dismal
wails also became stilled.
Brlx announced that it was time for the transparent
cube to be filled with its green glow of light, giving their;
friends in the blue dimension an opportunity to return tQ
their own world.
Back to Trulfk
E agerly they watched the cube of green light,
seeking the forms of their comrades or the machine
man. The emerald luminescence paled a bit. Strange
forms commenced to materialize within the cube.
“They’re coming back !” cried Glrg excitedly.
The yells of triumph turned to shouts of surprise and
dismay as the forms within the green cube took on defi-
nite, distinguishable shape. No three-legged Tripeds or
metal machine man occupied the cube’s interior. It was
literally packed with kicking, struggling Emkls!
“Let them out!” shouted Glrg. “Stand ready to kill
them as fast as they emerge 1”
“Leave them in!” implored Brlx. “They’ll strangle
to death for want of air !”
Glrg pondered the question which was solved by the
outcries of the other Tripeds, all of them brandishing
their weapons and demanding the blood of the Emkls.
“Let them out ! Let them out !”
“Open up I” ordered Glrg. “Let them out ! Stand by
to destroy each and every one !”
The cube’s entrances were both opened at once, the
air rushing in with a loud report, throwing the leathern
winged Emkls into a conglomerate heap, dazed and be-
wildered. The Tripeds lined up outside. As the Emkls
either flew or walked out one by one, the careful aim of
the Tripeds blew them to pieces. The Tripeds were en-
joying the sport immensely, especially after their long
wait and restricted activity. As the last of the Emkls
flew out of the cube and disappeared in several loud re-
ports, there arose a cry for more of the hereditary
enemies of the Tripeds.
“Bring more of them from the other dimension !”
The cube was immediately emptied of the air which
had been admitted, and once more the discs at one end '
filled the huge compartment with the green glow which
so effectually hid everything it encompassed.
Impatiently the Tripeds waited for more victims, their
appetite for massacre whetted by this initial onslaught.
The green glow was allowed to suffuse the cubic cham-
ber for the allotted time before Brlx ordered it to be dis-
persed. Gradually the green mists cleared to reveal a
huge, bulky object which filled nearly half of the transi-
tion cube. It was one of the two airships which Dlb and
Ldgz had taken with them into the blue dimension.
“The ship !” exclaimed Brlx.
“They’re returning!”
“But where is the other ship ?”
“Perhaps it is waiting to come through afterward,”
suggested Glrg hopefully, attempting to dispel the
anxiety he felt. “They might not have had sufficient
time to maneuver both into place.”
THE RETURN OF THE TRIPEDS
135
One entire side of the transition cube was lowered to
allow the egress of the craft. Professor Jameson was
the first one to emerge from the airship as it swung out
of the cube.
“Where is the other ship ?” inquired Glrg,
“Destroyed by the Emkls along with half of our
forces,” he reported.
Then tersely he related their adventures in the blue
dimension with a full account of their discovery of his
companions, the machine men, imprisoned in the depths
of an unscalable pit at the bottom of the ocean.
“When we came back here to the transition cube, we
found the Emkls flying in and out of its green haze.
The ”
“Yes!” interrupted Glrg. “Some of them came
through into this world ! We killed them all !”
“The Emkls were so thick that we had to fight our way
through them to place the airship within the green light,”
concluded the machine man.
“These Zoromes — the survivors — ^your friends !”
spoke Glrg in his excitement. “Where do you say they
are ?”
“At the bottom of the ocean!” stated the professor.
“I know the exact spot ! We must bring them out !”
“By all means !” said Brlx. “Let’s be off and at it
immediately !”
The Tripeds’ e^erness to bring forth the long lost ma-
chine men from the depths of their watery prison was
surpassed only by the professor’s zeal.
“We had ^st make the journey in one of the space
ships,” advised Glrg. “It will float on the water, and we
can lower lines to your friends.”
“I’m going to descend into the sea on one of the lines,”
announced Professor Jameson.
They were soon floating in the space ship of the Tri-
peds above the spot where the professor knew his fellow
machine men to be.
“Only a machine man could do that,” mused Ravlt in a
remark to Glrg as the metal head of Professor Jameson
disappeared beneath the surface in a swirl of bubbles.
“He was invincible in the combat with the Emkls,”
stated another of the Tripeds. “They overpowered him
by superior numbers after he had killed many of them.”
The Ocean’s Secret
D own, ever down, sank the machine man through
the yellow, misty waters whose color deepened the
lower he went. All the time, the Tripeds above unreeled
the line which was sending him to the floor of the watery
pit. A yellow phosphorescence replaced the filtered day-
light as the machine man plumbed the lower depths of
the sea. Soon, he saw the high wall of the pit slide up-
ward and away.
He felt his metal legs bump against the ocean floor,
and he gave several yanks on the line to announce his
arrival to those above. Instantly he radiated a mental
call to the machine men of Zor. He peered through the
murky yellowness for a sight of his comrades whom he
had supposed dead. Had his metal anatomy been pos-
sessed of a heart, it is needless to say that it would have
beaten excitedly.
Through the suffused twilight of the yellow gloom
there walked slowly toward him four metal forms, sea-
weed clinging to the waving tentacles. Approaching him
were 41C-98, 744U-21, 6W-438 and 29G-75. It was
truly amazing! Here in this living grave of the sea’s
yellow depth these machine men had survived for more
than seven hundred years!
“Where are the others?” asked Professor Jameson.
“You said there were fifteen survivors.”
“Come,” stated 6W-438. “We shall go to our under-
ground rendezvous. You will meet the rest — what
there is left of them.”
Together the five machine men made their way to a
cave dug in the side of the pit’s wall. At its entrance
stood two more of the long lost Zoromes. Professor
Jameson noticed in surprise that one of them was pos-
sessed of but two tentacles, while his companion limped
about on three legs and possessed four tentacles. A
greater surprise was in store for the professor as he en-
tered the cavern.
On one side were ranged nine metal heads in a row.
The metal eye shutters opened at his approach. Across
from the heads, on the other side of the cave, was a con-
glomeration of worn out metal bodies, legs and tentacles.
“You see,” explained 6W-438, “during the time we’ve
been down in this hole, many of our parts have worn out.
They wear out many times faster in the water than any
place else. Among the fifteen of us we have enough
parts left to fully equip four with enough left over to
partially outfit two others. We take turns in wearing the
tentacles and legs which, of course, have worn out
quickest.”
“Are there any more of the machine men left beside
us?” asked 41C-98.
“Not that I know of,” replied the professor. “Until
I found you, I had thought myself the only survivor.
How was it that the Emkls did not drive you to death
down here?”
“Their hypnotic powers are of no avail to any living
creature in the water. That is why the water animals
who came out on the islets to wail at the blue sun were
rendered immune to the phantoms you call Emkls.
Sometimes during an eclipse we see the Emkls flying
down here, even as we saw you.”
“What about yourself?” queried 20R-654, one of the
nine heads ranged in a row upon the cavern floor.
“How did you escape the lure of the phantoms ?”
“Who were the three-legged animals we saw you with,
21MM392?”
“How did you gain access to the other dimension ?”
The questions flew thick and fast.
“Wait!” begged the professor. “When we are all
safely out of here you shall be given a complete, detailed
account of everything. It is a long story. The Tripeds
are waiting to haul us out of here.”
Picking up the nine metal heads, the seven Zoromes
made their way to the spot where the professor had
descended.
“Within our space ship there are plenty of tentacles,
bodies and legs for you,” Professor Jameson promised
the nine heads.
When they reached the place where Professor Jame-
son had left the hanging line they found more lines, some
of them terminating in large baskets. They could all
make the ascent in one trip.
The professor gave the signal to pull up, and this was
followed by the rise to the surface. The rescued ma-
chine men gave a last, farewell wave of tentacles to the
various forms of marine life which curiously regarded
their departure. {Continued on page 151)
The Terfect Tlanet
By Miles J. Breuer, M. D.
Author of “The Captured Cross-Section,” “On the Martian Liner,” etc.
HAT is it that enables us to think clearly, or prevents us from seeing the
rr obvious solutions to even ordinary, everyday problems? Isn’t there some
medicine or help for the muddle-headed individual, who means so well? Dr,
Breuer thinks there is — and perhaps he is actually working on something him-
self, even if he does locate this “miracle-working something” on another planet.
Illustrated by MOREY
UESS I’ll look for the meteor,” said Gus
Kersenbrock out loud.
There was no one in those vast solitudes
of sand-hill and sage-brush to hear his
voice, but the arrival of that inspiring idea
seemed to cheer him up. He lifted his head, and his
drooping body became alert with interest.
He had been mooning along gloomily over the sand-
hills for the greater part of the Sunday afternoon ; for
the sand-hills were his refuge when he was troubled and
depressed, which the Lord only knows was often enough.
Here among these wastes of sand, majestic as a frozen
sea, he could think. That is what he had been trying to
do now — in his halting and difficult fashion.
“Just because my head works too slow,” he talked
aloud, kicking at a tuft of gray sage, “that snob of a
Thompson is taking my girl to the circus and I’m snoop-
ing around here like a coyote. Now, after it’s too late,
I can see what I’d ought to have said and done; nowa-
days you can’t boss girls around by yellin’ at ’em. I can’t
blame Kitty for going with a fellow that’s got good man-
ners and dresses swell and tries to please her all the
time.”
His feet crunched along through the sand. The low
sun, shining orange-yellow through the dust pall, cast
shadows of the low, rounded hills toward him.
“It don’t seem right. Hard as I work, I can’t more’n
earn a bare living for myself, and have nothing left to
offer to Kitty. A girl don’t want a pauper. Thompson
leads an easy life and has lots of money. Supposen’
everybody knows he’s a bootlegger ; as long as he never
gets caught he is more welcome at dances and parties
than I am. And he comes by the garage in his swell
clothes and sneers down at me when I’m under a car in
my grimy overalls — I could throw a grease-rag in his
pink face!”
About that time he conceived the idea of looking for
the meteor. He stood on top of a rounded knoll of
smooth, shining sand, somewhat higher than the others.
He peered in all directions for signs of the meteor. But
he saw nothing, except far in the distance behind him a
tiny black dot where his Ford coupe stood. He had
driven it as far as he could, until the road disappeared
and the sand became too deep for driving. Everywhere
else were unbroken, billowed wastes of sand.
“I suppose,” he grumbled on, “after Forbes fires me
for fumbling that transmission job and I’m sunk with
nothing to live on, then I’ll figure out how I could have
fixed it.”
At seven o’clock the previous evening he had flung
down his tools and left the shop in utter discouragement.
He had been trying to repair the reverse gear of an old
Model T Ford that would not work. All that afternoon
he had toiled in the black grease, with gear-wheels and*
wrenches all about him.
“Who the hell can understand thatf” he had ex-
claimed, and decided to spend his Sunday afternoon in
solitude among the sand-hills, with his .22 rifle, some
sandwiches, and a canteen of water.
The idea of searching for the meteor had struck him
when the afternoon was all but over; but it lifted him
somewhat out of his depression. Two weeks before, about
four o’clock in the afternoon, all of the little town of
Chadron had been startled by a flash of green light that
was bright even in the afternoon sunshine, and by a dull,
thunderous reverberation. It seemed to be almost on top
of them, at the very edge of town at least. But every in-
habitant of the village had joined in a minute search of
136
mmM
::■ • i_<';;,"'5f^:.-ii,>:-'^-- <;t^;^' -V.- J-rv’gj
He whirled about to look out of the
door, and found to his amazement that
his movement carried him a half dozen
feet across the room.
i^m
^'■'r«EE'
H|||^^^w|l
’ ''''^
137
138
AMAZING STORIES
the ground for miles around, and not a trace of the fallen
star had been found; finally it had drifted out of their
memories. Of all of them, Gus alone recollected it, when
on this Sunday afternoon he found himself headed right
in the direction of the place where it had been seen to
fall.
Gradually his despair mellowed into a sort of peace-
ful melancholy; his dumb anger against Thompson sub-
sided, and in its place came a stirring sort of glow of kin-
ship with this spreading grandeur about him. Gus Ker-
senbrock was not outstanding for mental brilliance, but
he did have a poetic sort of soul ; he loved the wastes of
sand and the riots of sunset color. Even the thin, gray
coyote outlined for a second on the crest of a distant
hill, seemed like a brother and a companion in the wil-
derness.
Then he saw the Ball !
He had just trudged up to the brow of a rounded hill,
and saw it down in the valley ahead. - It was huge,
round, and greenish. It lay partly buried at the end of a
vast furrow in the sand, that looked as though a Brob-
dignagian had dragged his gigantic boot there. The Ball
did not look like anything he had ever heard of, seen, or
imagined.
Afterwards he had always called it “The Ball,” be-
cause of his first impression of it from a distance, sunk
in the sand, with heaps of sand thrown up about one side
of it. But as he came close, he made out that it was
shaped like an olive, rather longer in proportion to its
transverse diameter, and somewhat lighter in color; but
taken altogether, looking very much like a huge olive.
Arriving all out of breath under the bulging lee of the
thing, he touched it with his hand. It was smooth and
felt like glass; and he thought he could see a little dis-
tance into its translucent substance. He walked around
it, and suddenly perceived that it had a door, swinging
open.
For the first time it struck Gus that the ovoid was not
some inorganic product of natural forces. To come to
think of it, it could not possibly be a fallen meteor ; those
usually splash an immense hole in the ground, throwing
up a circular mound of earth in crater form. This thing,
if it came from above, must have landed with reason-
able care and gentleness. Tales of Zeppelins bootleg-
ging liquor from Canada to St. Louis entered his mind.
He wondered if it would be best for him to wait for
darkness and quietly steal away.
The door was heavy and countersunk, like a safe
door. There were three other circular openings in dif-
ferent parts of the ball, covered with glass or some trans-
parent stuff. For half an hour he lay there watching
and listening intently ; but not a sound, not a movement,
not a glimmer came from within. That gave him cour-
age to approach it again.
Then he got an idea, simple and cunning rather than
brilliant. He tossed a pebble into the open door and
scuttled into hiding. He heard it clink on a metal floor,
but not a sound answered it. After waiting another fif-
teen minutes he was reasonably sure that there was no
one about the apparatus. He walked up to the open door
and thrust his head inside.
The light streamed in through the open door and
through the three circular windows. Vague shapes of
machinery stood about. The interior was a single com-
partment corresponding in general shape to that of the
exterior of the huge ovoid. He waited until his eyes be-
came accustomed to the subdued light within. Nowhere
was there a sign of a living thing. He climbed inside.
He found himself in front of a table on which there
were knobs and handles and dials and scales. He con-
cluded that it was some sort of a control board. He
stood in front of it with his hands clasped behind him,
refraining carefully from touching it, because his primi-
tive caution warned him to let it alone. Then he saun-
tered about inside the place trying to understand what
it was all about. From the shape and size of the interior
he could see that this room occupied all of the space
within the vessel. Yet, there were no cases of liquor to
be seen. In fact there was nothing of a familiar nature.
He could not say what it was that he expected to find,
but we can guess : papers, books, canned food, furniture,
a hat or a coat. There was nothing that he could recog-
nize, and a vast amount that he could not ; a vast amount
that seemed utterly strange and bizarre to him.
T he machinery seemed more familiar to him than
the other objects. He was a mechanic, and in a
simple fashion a very good one. Though their forms
seemed utterly strange, he could guess the uses and pur-
poses of some of the mechanisms. At one end were coils
and vacuum-tubes that must have belonged to the high-
frequency electrical field. Nearly opposite the door were
many metal cylinders in rows, with valves at the tops,
which reminded him forcibly of the drums in which they
received their supplies of acetylene and oxygen for weld-
ing in the garage where he worked. He recognized a
small electric dynamo-generator and the light-bulbs and
heating devices which it operated, though the things were
of the most odd and unearthly shapes.
He was conscious of a curious sensation from the mo-
ment he had stepped into the interior, and in the back
of his mind he was trying to define it ; a sort of feeling
of ease and power and lightness. A mournful howl sud-
denly splitting the air outdoors startled him for an in-
stant; he whirled about to look out of the door, and
found to his amazement that his movement carried him a
half dozen feet vertically up into the air and a dozen
feet across the room. Then he floated down gently to
the floor. Two things were going on in his mind at
the same time : he decided that the noise outside was a
coyote and not the owner of the vessel, and he was
forced to conclude, strange as it might seem, that the
force of gravity was decreased within the vessel. It was
many days before the corollary of the latter conclusion
dawned upon him : that he was inside an interplanetary
flier, and that gravitation was decreased to suit the con-
venience of beings from a planet smaller than ours. At
the moment he still struggled with the idea that it was
some sort of an illegitimate conveyance for smuggling
or bootlegging.
He was roused from his puzzled thoughts by a sizzling
sound and a queer odor. He found that he had de-
scended gently on the tops of the metal flasks with stop-
cocks, and that to regain his balance he had seized one
of the valve-levers. He must have released some of the
gas in the containers, for it was sizzling out and filling
the room with an utterly strange odor, very penetrating
and somewhat aromatic. It reminded him distantly of
crab-apple blossoms. Instinctively he grasped the lever
again, and trying it this way and that, eventually, after
several anxious minutes, stopped the sizzling.
He went to the door, trying to ascertain if he had any
THE PERFECT PLANET
139
ill effects from having inhaled the gas. He could feel
no change; everything seemed as usual. What such
large quantities of stored gas could possibly be for, he
could not imagine. Frightened into better caution by his
first slip, he examined the place thoroughly, until forced
to desist by the gathering twilight. He started home-
ward, as much puzzled as ever; marking in his mind
carefully the location of the Ball, with the intention of
visiting it again. He went home in a considerably im-
proved mood. He had had an adventure, and adventures
were scarce for auto-mechanics in the sandhill country.
Monday morning, as he started for his job at the
garage, he was still worried about the Ford reverse gear,
and the fear of tackling it again made his steps lag.
“Being scared is just a feeling" he said to himself.
“My feelings aren’t going to run me as long as I’ve still
got a perfectly good noodle. So here goes !’’
He was amazed because he was thus able to see it as
he had never seen it before ; and he was amazed to find
that the mechanism of the Ford transmission when he
tackled it, was perfectly clear to him. Without any
trouble, he could picture the large internal gear with the
small one revolving backwards within it. It was more
like a pleasant game than a difficult job to take the
mechanism and systematically put it through its move-
ments one by one, testing each function until he came to
the lost set-screw on the inner shaft. He felt exhila-
rated after he had got the thing together working per-
fectly, and looked around for another job.
Gus was again amazed at himself when that forenoon
his employer, Forbes, started a foolish wrangle with a
customer, a tourist in a Cadillac. Gus had always been
rather afraid of Forbes, and had a vast respect for the
latter’s ability to sign checks to the Skelly Oil Co., for
two hundred and forty dollars every month. But it cer-
tainly showed lack of judgment on Forbes’ part to argue
with the man with an Ohio license-plate about the virtues
of the sandhill country. If the Ohio man insisted that
this was a God-forsaken place and a hell of a hole, Abe
Forbes should have nodded, thanked him for his pur-
chase, and asked him pleasantly to come again. How
plain it looked now ! Yet Gus had never noticed it be-
fore, even though it was happening constantly. So he
hurried up, filled the tourist’s radiator with water, pol-
ished his windshield, and told him how to find the better
of the two roads to Alliance,
“Thank you ! Come again !” shouted Gus pleasantly
as the tourist drove off grumbling. Like a light breaking
across a foggy sky, it dawned on Gus that Abe Forbes
was driving half the good business to Alliance by his
habits of arguing with customers about non-essential
trifles.
Early in the afternoon it became vividly apparent to
Gus that the front of the garage was disorderly and
dirty. “Good business won’t come to a junk pile,” he
thought, and set about putting things into attractive
shape. By evening he had in mind a half dozen things
about the business that were being done wrong, in a
muddled, stupid fashion, and was planning remedies.
He was amazed that such obvious things had been al-
lowed to go so long without being recognized. “We’ve
been blind. Blind as bats !” he thought. He was full of
the exhilaration of plans for revolutionizing the busi-
ness of the garage. Then came evening and with it,
thoughts of Kitty. He called her on the telephone.
“How are you, Kitty?” he asked in a jolly tone, that
surprised her so that she nearly dropped the receiver.
“I’m mighty anxious to get a look at you. Can you do
my eyes a favor tonight?”
“Why — oh — why — oh, yes!”
Kitty was embarrassed because she had already prom-
ised Thompson a date. But she was so astonished at the
expression in Gus’ voice that she wanted to see what had
happened to the boy.
The only thing that had happened to Gus was that now
he could see. He could understand how Kitty felt about
things. He couldn’t blame her for getting impatient
with an unkempt, blundering mechanic. So, he tele-
phoned to Chadron’s little florist shop, and then got to
work to clean himself up and set out his neatest clothes,
in the meanwhile keeping his mind busy thinking up
pretty speeches for Kitty.
“Oh, Gus I” she exclaimed when she saw him and the
extended bunch of flowers.
She could not think of another word to say, but right
there, Thompson fell a thousand miles.
For about three days after that, Gus was so enthused
over the hundred and one things to do, that stood out so
simply and plainly all about him, making the world such
an easy and straightforward place to work with, that he
forgot all about the Ball. During those days, Kitty saw
only him, and courteously asked to be excused when
Thompson called. The garage was transformed, and
customers were surprised.
Several times Thompson sauntered into the garage,
nattily dressed, smoking a cigarette with a jaunty air, but
covertly studying Gus, keeping an eye on him, trying to
discover what had happened and how, Gus greeted him
cheerfully and went on with his own affairs.
Then, somehow, things began to slip. He didn’t know
how nor why. He couldn’t find the trouble in the gaso-
line pump, and paid no attention when Forbes answered
crossly to an impatient driver who was waiting for his
tank to be filled. Within two days he had cross words
with Kitty over the silent look of disappointed reproach
she had given him for thoughtlessly teasing her and hurt-
ing her feelings, as had been his clumsy wont in the past.
He spent all day Saturday on the carburetor of a Pack-
ard car and then got it back together wrong ; it backfired
and started a blaze under the hood of the car, and Forbes
took twenty-five dollars’ worth of damages out of Gus’
pay check. Sunday he committed a blunder in a base-
ball game because he consistently underestimated the
speed of the Alliance players; his team blamed him
roundly for the loss of the game, and he resigned his
place on it. To cap it all, there was Thompson taking
Kitty home from the game, with a leer of satisfaction on
his face at Gus’ downfall.
“All because I’m naturally dumb,” Gus muttered to
himself. “I don’t get things figured out plain, somehow.
I can’t see ’em. Only after they’ve gone wrong, I can
see how I’d ought to done it. Well, guess I’d better go
out in the sandhills and bum around with the coyotes a
while. That seems to be where I belong.”
He was startled to find himself right beside the olive-
green Ball. Down below the surface of everyday, con-
scious thoughts, one’s mind does queer things; and un-
doubtedly Gus’ mind had in some way unconsciously as-
sociated his discovery of the Ball with the few days of
clear vision which had so simplified the world’s puzzles
for him, and brought a taste of success. Up on the sur-
face of his consciousness it had certainly never occurred
140
AMAZING STORIES
to him that way. While he was busy brooding about his
discomfiture in baseball, Thompson’s machinations
against him, and the threatened loss of his job at the
garage, his unconscious mind had guided him back to the
Ball, in the vague hope that somehow the Ball might
again grant him another respite of grace. All the while
he was thinking of other things and believed he was
wandering aimlessly.
He approached the Ball a second time from a slightly
different direction. That accounted for his finding the
skeletons and the instruments. There were three of the
skeletons huddled together in a hollow between two low
sand mounds, already stripped of whatever flesh they
might have had, by birds and beasts. They did not look
human. The skulls were long and bulging and the limbs
amazingly long and spindly; the creatures must have
stood seven or eight feet high. There were no ribs nor
■vertebrae, but instead of them, plates of a horny, chiti-
nous substance. A number of strange utensils of some
sort were scattered about them, rods, tripods, metal
cases.
1
G US felt very reverent and melancholy about the
little heap of relics, and gazed at it in silence for
some minutes, not completely understanding its signifi-
cance at the time.
He spent two hours inside the big spheroid. He
looked it all over again carefully, but had sense enough
not to bother the controls nor to touch anything about the
mechanism. He found an object that must have been
meant for a chair; a cushion-like thing shaped like a to-
mato. As he clirnbed up on it, it sank down deeply and
comfortably with him. There he sat in silence and
puzzled, trying in vain to catch the fleeting idea of how
the Ball had helped him.
He was disappointed. Beyond the exhilarating light-
ness due to the diminution of gravity within the machine,
he observed no effects of any kind, though he watched
eagerly for them for several days. As a matter of fact,
the dragging, leaden feeling in his legs that surprised him
when he jumped lightly out of the door of the Ball, re-
mained on his mind for some days as an ironic reminder
of his failure.
Back to the dreary days of monotonous and ineffective
toil. Back to the bitterness of seeing Kitty driven
around in Thompson’s luxurious car and the taunting
leer on Thompson’s face. Even the forgetfulness of
troubles which baseball practice had once afforded, was
now denied to him. The grease and grime and disorder,
the disheartening mechanical problems, the clumsiness of
both himself and Forbes, seemed all the harder to bear
because of the memory of a few days of clear vision and
efficient action. Desperately his mind sought some way
of getting back to that.
One day he suddenly paid another visit to the Ball.
The evening before he had come upon an item in the
Nebraska State Journal. It looked rather insignificant,
sandwiched in between sensational paragraphs on politics
and crime ; but it stuck in his mind and haunted him all
day.
It had been a particularly terrible day. He was groan-
ing over the stripped gears of a Pontiac car, whose occu-
pants stood about and criticized him ; and Forbes fumed,
but knew even less about the mechanism than Gus did.
Gus went to bed exhausted that night, but still vaguely
disturbed that there was something he ought to do about
what he had read in the newspaper. During the night
his subconscious mind must have worked it out, for he
leaped out of bed early in the morning and dashed across
the room for the paper to take another look at the item :
SCIENTIST RESTORES FEEBLE BRAINS
Wisconsin Professor Discovers Drug
to Clear up Muddled Thinking
Drs. Loevenhart, Lorens, and Waters report that
by means of their experiments with mixtures of
sodium cyanide, carbon dioxide, and oxygen on in-
sane and feeble-minded patients they have succeeded
in quickening sluggish mental powers. After inhal-
ing this gas their subjects talked much more ration-
ally, reasoned better, and gave evidence of much
more agile mentality. As soon as the effects of the
gas passed off, they relapsed into their former stu-
porous or comatose states. Full scientific details of
the matter are given in The Journal of the American
Medical Association lor March 16, 1929, Volume 92,
No. 11, page 880. The results presented in this pre-
liminary report are slight in degree, but are remark-
able in their promise of sensational developments in
a totally new field.
Gus was galvanized into activity. He dressed with
race-horse speed, and hurried through the still sleeping
streets to the lunch-counter on a run. The sleepy waiter
came wide-awake when he saw Gus’ energy, and served
his fastest breakfast. In a few minutes Gus’ Ford was
rattling full speed ahead into the sandhills.
He arrived at the Ball’s swinging green door breath-
less ; he climbed in like a man who knew what he wanted
and was going after it. In a thoroughly brisk and busi-
nesslike way he walked over to the cylinders in w'hich
the gas was stored and threw the valve of one of them
wide open. His lungs, panting from his progress
through the deep sand, took in the pungent fluid in deep
breaths. For many minutes he stood there in front of
the cylinder, inhaling the crab-apple-odored gas as deeply
as possible. Then, like a flash it occurred to him that he
was wasting it, and he turned it off with future needs in
mind.
He rather expected to feel some physical sensation
from its effects, but there was none. However, it had
worked. He knew it had worked because of the prompt-
ness with which the idea of economizing the gas had
come to him. In his ordinary state he could never have
thought as fast as that, nor seen the point so clearly.
Furthermore, the fact that he was able to deduce front
his own prompt recognition of the need of saving the gas,
that the gas had taken effect, was a bit of reasoning that
encouraged him very much. He hurried back to town.
“What the hell do you mean?” roared Forbes, as Gus
drove into the garage at ten o’clock. “This ain’t an
afternoon tea. You’re fi ”
Gus smiled at him with calm and <^eerful assurance.
“We’ll be way ahead by noon,” he said confidently.
“I can fix that Pontiac in half an hour and then I can
find the ti'ouble in your check-book;”
He went to work, leaving Forbes standing there and
staring. By noon the Pontiac was fixed and the tourists
had been sent off satisfied. The check book balance was
straightened out. And Gus had Forbes convinced that
the space about the filling pumps in front of the garage
ought to be paved with cement. Forbes was astonished
into speechlessness.
THE PERFECT PLANET
141
By evening things were running beautifully at the
garage; it was as well organized and things worked as
smoothly as they do in the big institutions in the cities ;
tourists went away declaring that they were sending all
their friends in this direction — merely because Gus was
able to see their viewpoint instead of his own, and was
able to browbeat Forbes into seeing it because he under-
stood Forbes’ viewpoint. At the end of three days,
Forbes had voluntarily given him a substantial raise in
pay, and was still ahead because of the rise in receipts.
Again, Kitty was reconquered. It seemed easy to
Gus; all he had to do was to put himself in Kitty’s
place, and treat her as he would like to be treated him-
self. Kitty was not only all his, but the happiest and
most radiant young woman in town. She was overjoyed
in Gus because she had always loved the solid and ster-
ling qualities beneath his rough exterior. This new Gus
was as strong and dependable as the old, but also cour-
teous to her and thoughtful of her every wish. He was
a wonderful man and all hers ; and she glowed with pride
as she walked down the street with him. The matter of
the baseball team was not so easily handled; but Gus,
being able to see things in their proper relationship, felt
that it was a minor matter, and let it drop for the pres-
ent as unimportant.
Thompson was disturbed. He walked past the garage
many times a day, with black looks in Gus’ direction ; and
Gus could see Thompson studying him in a puzzled
fashion. At times he found Thompson following him
about at night.
“Think you’re smart !” Thompson once said sarcastic-
ally. “Well, never mind. I’ll get you yet. I’ve got the
means to do it with. You won’t last long.
Knowing that Thompson was utterly unscrupulous,
Gus was momentarily alarmed,
Gus found that he had to make another trip to the
Ball on about the fifth day. It was a brilliant moonlight
night this time, and he drove in the evening, taking Kitty
along. The trip to the Ball was chiefly silent, because
Gus was already losing some of the clear and full com-
prehension and sympathy that was his when he was un-
der the influence of the gas. For the same reason he had
failed to notice that Thompson had been watching closely
and in secret all day, and was now following in his silent,
powerful car, without headlights.
With wildly beating heart he turned om the valve and
breathed the pungent gas for ten minutes.
His talk on the way home with Kitty was an inspiring
one. By this time it was clear to him that the Ball was
an interplanetary flier, whose occupants had perished in
their first attempt to get about on Earth; and that the
“gas” in the metal cylinders was merely some of the air.
of the planet from which they had come, stored under
pressure for their long journey ; and that its purpose was
merely to supply the breathingilieeds of the passengers
of the space-vessel.
“Think of the millions of inhabitants of that lucky
planet,” he said to Kitty, “who have the benefit of
breathing an atmosphere that has the power of clearing
your understanding and lining up your thoughts, as it
has done for me !
“What a world! A world free from blunders and
misunderstanding ! A world in which there is only sym-
pathy and no thoughtlessness. Suppose that all its
people understand everything around them clearly — ^that
they just see with their eyes open — each person under-
stands how others feel about things, and his sympathy
for the other fellow is stronger than his own selfish de-
sires ! What a world ! No hate, no scraps. People get-
ting along pleasantly, quietly, happily. No wars. Even
money would hardly be needed. Service to others would
be the principal end of living. Think of it ! A planet on
which every individual is happy !
“A perfect world! And this green Ball has come to
us from it! The three unfortunate travelers met their
deaths in this dreary desert, before they had gone a
thousand yards from their machine. But maybe that was
the kindest thing that could have happened to them.
Suppose they had gotten among the squabbling, selfish
humans on this planet? Gosh! Don’t you wish we
could get into the thing and sail up to the Perfect Planet,
Kitty?”
“What a dreamer you’ve become, Gus!” Kitty ex-
claimed, enjoying the poetry of it, as any woman would.
“But it’s wonderful enough right here. When I think
of how wonderful you were the first time you took the
gas, my imagination runs away with me. Why! you
could increase the business of the garage and make an
immense salary; in fact pretty soon you could start a
garage of your own or buy out Forbes. Then you could
buy a drug-store and a picture-show, and lots of busi-
nesses, and you w’ould be the richest man in Chadron.
They might make you mayor, and elect you to the Legis-
lature, and you could go to Lincoln !”
While they were on their way home, Thompson ex-
plored all around inside the Ball, and finally went away,
shaking his head in bewilderment. But the malevolent
gleam neverJleft his eyes.
Successful days followed for Gus. He fixed a motor
which had hobbled in from Alliance, where no mechanic
was able to repair it. He spruced up the appearance of
the garage, and put system into its working, and Forbes
started a profit-sharing scheme with him. He got along
beautifully with Kitty. Life was a thrilling inspiration
when things went smoothly and efficiently. Even Forbes
began to respect him.
On the fifth day, however, little blunders began to
creep into his work. A cross word to a customer, a false
move in a repair job, neglect of some obvious little word
of deed, began to irritate him and make him feel self-
conscious. The effect of the gas was wearing off and he
needed some more. By this time he had enough of his
own way about the garage so that he was able to get
into his Ford coupe and drive out to the Ball.
“If things keepjon going. I’ll soon be able to get rid of
this coffee-pot, and get me that keen little Studebaker
roadster. But, for the present, I’d better save my
money, so that Kitty and I could look for a house.”
He left his car as usual at the end of the ruts that are
called a road, and started on foot across the sandhills.
About half a mile from his car, a man with a rifle
popped out from behind a bank and stopped him.
“Can’t pass here !” the man said. “Government opera-
tions going on.”
Gus was surprised. He couldn’t imagine any sort of
government operations that would be of any good around
here. Excavating for some of those buried bones and
fossil turtles, perhaps. He said nothing and resumed
his walk toward the Ball by a detour. Again he was
stopped by a man with a rifle, who said that government
operations were going on. He went around a circle of
several miles trying to get to the Ball, but found it ef-
142
AMAZING STORIES
fectively surrounded. As he drove home disconsolately
in his car, he pondered. These men looked too much on
the side of the tough and disreputable to be government
men. There was something suspicious about it.
The next morning he felt the lack of the gas more
acutely. He was cranky and incompetent, and had sev-
eral clashes with Forbes. Kitty came in, and after a few
W’ords, looked at him queerly, and finally went out with
a sad, puzzled look on her face. Then Thompson
dawdled in with a triumphant leer. He watched Gus in
insolent silence, smoking a cigarette in violation of the
garage rule. As Gus threw down a wrench with an ex-
clamation of helpless exasperation, Thompson guffawed
in satisfaction.
A light broke upon Gus. He remembered Thompson’s
trailing him about, and vaguely recollected a car far be-
hind them w’hen he had driven out with Kitty. He
stalked menacingly up to Thompson.
“Say!” he exclaimed. “What’s the idea? I found
that Ball. You have no right to it!”
“Careful with that greasy wrench. Bo!” Thompson
warned, glancing out to the sidewalk and exchanging a
significant glance with a burly looking tough who stood
there. “No rough stuff. For your own good, see !”
“That Ball is mine !” Gus pleaded weakly, seeing the
ruffian sidling toward them.
“Try and get it!” laughed Thompson.
“But why are you doing this?” Gus asked anxiously.
“Since I have the upper hand,” Thompson sneered, “I
can afford to be nice and tell you all about it. I want
Kitty. I get what I want. She seems to prefer me to
you, except when you’ve been in that contraption out
there. I don’t know what it is nor how you do it, but
I’ve proved it. I’ve followed you out there ; and after
you’ve been there, you have a way with people. So, you
don’t get over there again until I’ve had my way with
Kitty.”
He spun on his heel and walked away, leaving Gus
stunned.
“And it won’t be long, either,” Thompson flung back.
“I’m rushing her fast.”
He stopped and turned back to Gus.
“Then I’ll blow up your thing out there. How long
will Forbes keep you after it’s gone ? He has no use for
a clumsy tramp. ' Then what will you do ? I can see you
now, walking down the railroad-ties in ragged shoes and
a scraggly beard, cooking coffee in a tin can. What will
Kitty think of you then?”
He walked away, followed at a distance by his uncouth
bodyguard, leaving Gus dumbfounded. Thompson’s
words cut into his heart like ice, and he felt himself
helpless. As a result, his work was all the more clumsy
and inefficient. It was a busy day, and both he and
Forbes were desperately snowed under. Forbes swore
continuously.
“You’re the damnedest fellow I ever saw. Some days
you’re good. Today you’re just a damned nuisance
around here, and I’d like to kick you out.”
E ventually the interminable day was over, and
Gus dragged home in hopeless discouragement.
With the gas gone, he was lost. Dumbly he turned to
Kitty for solace. But, as was his wont, and as is hu-
man, he blundered from the first.
“So you’ve been fooling around with that Thompson
again, eh?” he flung at her. He knew it was a tactless
blunder, but it just slipped out. Kitty looked at him
sadly.
“He’s a crook and a coward ”
“If that’s the way you’re going to talk to me, you
don’t have to come,” Kitty answered hotly.
A quarrel followed. Gus slammed out of the door and
slumped gloomily into the night. As he got across the
street he saw Thompson go into the yard and up the
steps of Kitty’s house. A chuckle came over to him
through the darkness.
Gus was beside himself with rage and anger. He
stood there paralyzed for a long time; whether it was
minutes or hours he did not know. Then he walked;
he covered every block in the little town, walking off his
anger. Finally, late in the night the idea came to him.
He whirled about and ran toward his room. He seized
his .22 rifle.
“I might as well get killed as to go on like this,” he
muttered grimly.
He got into his Ford coupe and stepped on the starter.
It was dead. He looked under the hood. The distribu-
tor wires were cut. The manifolds were cracked and
showed signs of heavy blows. The carbureter was
smashed flat. It would take hours of work and expen-
sive parts to repair the damage.
Gus felt a wave of weakness sweep over him, and al-
most sank to his knees. Everything was going against
him. That fiend, Thompson, was too strong and too
clever for him. Now he was helpless. What could he
do ? He was beaten to a standstill.
Desperation however suggests plans, and Gus wa§
desperate. He leaped out of his car and hurried toward
his employer’s garage, paying no attention to the man
following in the shadows at some distance behind. He
opened the doors and got into Forbes’ big Nash. The
motor roared and the powerful car dashed out of the
garage. Gus was out in the street, but not before a man
had leaped up on the running-board. The dark shape
hung on with one hand, and maneuvered something, a
gun, with the other.
“East !” commanded a hoarse voice, accompanied by i
flourish of the big pistol.
“So, you’re one of Thompson’s men?”
“East, I say, or I’ll put some bullets through the car-
bureter 1”
Gus obediently turned the car East. He was playing
for time to think. He was desperate; he gritted his
teeth, lights blazed before his eyes, and his head
throbbed.
“Hey!” shouted the dark form in hoarse warning.
“Both hands on the steering wheel !”
Half a block ahead stood a gasoline pump at the curb,
Chadron’s rival garage. It was hardly visible in the
dark, but Gus well knew where it was. Again the low
cunning of the desperate animal was aroused. One hand
left the steering-wheel and raised slowly.
“Hey !” the man yelled. “Both hands, I said !”
Crash ! The man was gone. There was a thud on the
pavement and the clatter of the rolling, sliding gun. The
Nash tore on, with Gus at the wheel, having grazed the
gasoline pump by an inch, scraping his assailant off the
running board, and leaving him behind, a groaning,
squirming prostrate mass in the dark.
With pounding heart and muscles tight, Gus continued
his course east. He made three miles out of town, de-
scribed a big circle to the south, and finally turned back
THE PERFECT PLANET
143
west on the old familiar trail. His headlights were dark.
Then, when he reached the end of the road, he crept for-
ward along the sand, with his little rifle ready. He was
mostly animal and very little human just then.
His alert ears caught the hum of a car far away, but
he could see no sign of it. Disregarding it, he crept on
toward the Ball. It was hard to find in the starlight. It
seemed that he crept and crawled about wearily for
hours, this way and that. Finally he saw it, and realized
that he had been near it and had been circling it. He
was astonished that he had not encountered any guards.
He crept on toward the Ball. Infinitely careful,
slowly as a snail, painfully tense, he approached the tow-
ering mass. No one interfered with him. He could see
the door above him in the starlight, and no one about.
His heart pounding, his head throbbing at the thought of
getting the gas again and taking his place in the sun, he
rose slowly ; slowly he put his head in, slowly he climbed
in. It was move, stop, listen ; move, stop, listen. Not
a sound did he make, nor a sound did he hear. When he
got well inside he turned his flashlight toward the drums
of the longed-for gas.
“Ha!” chortled the voice of Thompson just outside
the door in the blackness, “Just what I wanted,”
Gus felt the stab of astonishment go right through his
being. Instinctively he turned the light toward the voice,
and there was Thompson climbing to the door and level-
ing a gun at him.
“Now you’ll show me how you work your pretty little
racket,” Thompson gloated. “It might do me some good
after all. After that, what becomes of you won’t inter-
est anybody.”
Gus’ muscles tightened.
“I might as well get shot as go on with it,” leaped
through his brain.
Gus leaped, gathering every ounce of strength.
It was terrific. He had forgotten the diminished force
of gravity within the Ball. He hit Thompson like a fly-
ing projectile out of a gun. Thompson went down with
a grunt, firing his gun wildly once ; a second or so later
the flattened bullet tapped back to the floor. Gus rolled
over and over and found himself standing on his head.
He recovered his balance, and by the aid of his flashlight
secured Thompson’s gun and threw it out of the door.
He clutched his fingers to get them around Thompson’s
throat. At that moment, Thompson fell and landed on
his back and neck with terrific force.
Both of them staggered and rolled across the room,
into some fragile things. There was a smashing and a
tiikling of broken fragments. The crackle of a blue
gjjctric spark drove them in opposite directions. Gus
gpll had his flashlight, and he searched the place with it
Thompson. He was aching to get his hands on
'j'^ompson, knowing that he could shake him like a ter-
rjer yShakes a rat. He discerned him bending over some
smash'^ things. Thompson suddenly straightened and
somethiiS crashed down on Gus’ hand, making it numb
and painM- The flashlight fell to the floor and broke,
leaving theririi^ darkness. In another moment, Thomp-
son had leapeLupon Gus, taking him by surprise.
Gus however, more familiar by this time with the
decreased gravity, and thought of it at once. A great
heave of his back ^ent them both up into the air, and be-
The
fore they alighted, Gus managed to get a more advan-
tageous hold. In a tight clinch they rolled about, rose,
staggered, made wild plunges and surprising leaps,
smashing into things, and wrecking every breakalDle
article about the place.
They crashed into the stacks of metal cylinders several
times, bringing forth a resounding clank. Gus was
slowly getting a better hold under Thompson’s shoulder
and in front of his neck, and bending him backwards. A
sudden kick of Thompson’s sent them reeling away from
the stack of cylinders, and Gus’ coat caught on some pro-
jection and gave a resounding rip. At the same time, a
sizzling, faint but distinct, began, though neither of
them heard it; nor did either of them note the pene-
trating, crab-apple-like odor. Gus was straining to break
Thompson’s back, and Thompson was wildly reaching
for something with which to crack Gus over the head,
but gradually his soft muscles and dissipated habits were
telling against him. He was weakening.
Then, as they rolled and catapulted into the end where
the machinery stood, and slammed into a easeful of
apparatus, there was a loud crack, the blue flash of a
spark, and both of them twitched and lay still.
For many minutes they lay there, and everything was
silent except the faint sizzle of the escaping gas. It be-
gan to look as though the long struggle, for success and
happiness and a girl, had ended equally and conclusively
for both of the two dark, motionless forms stretched on
the floor. An electric charge, disturbed by their combat
after its long interplanetary journey, put a sudden end
to the conflict.
After many minutes, one of them stirred, gasped, and
breathed deeply ; and in a moment the other did the same.
There were groans and sighs and turnings over. Con-
sciousness returned gradually to both of them at about
the same time. Both sat up together and faced each
other in the darkness. Both staggered to their feet, still
silent. Finally, Gus spoke first.
“Are you all right? I hope I haven’t hurt you.”
Thompson shook his head, as though that were far
away from his mind.
“I’ve been a fool,” he said.
“We all are — most of the time,” Gus replied.
“i’m quitting my silliness, and being fair from now on.
We’ll let Kitty herself decide between us.”
“You mean — ” gasped Gus, “ — ^we’re friends?”
“The only thing to be.”
They shook hands impulsively, and forgetting the low-
ered gravity, executed a big leap upward and toward
each other.
“As long as the gas holds out,” Gus reminded. He ex-
plained the action of the gas.
“That means,” Thompson said, stepping over to shut
off the valve from which the gas was still escaping, “that
we’ll have to use it regularly; and as soon as possible
have it analyzed so that we could make some more.
We’ll both use the gas, and if Kitty prefers you, you’re
welcome and have my congratulations,
“Then we’ll set up and manufacture the gas, not only
for our own continued use, but for others. We’ll supply
it to begin with, until others get started. Before long,
the whole world can have it. Then indeed old Mother
Earth will be the Perfect Planet.”
End
^murian ‘Documents
By J. Lewis Burtt
No. 3: Daedalus and Icarus
said that flying is a modern science. Way back,
rr dalus and Icarus, it was thought of, and perhaps even
essarily within a very limited circle. This is the third of
heralded series of modernized mythological stories.
in the days of Dae-
tried — though nec-
the already much
Illustrated by MOREY
N the Place of Assembly before the Palace of
Rapani stands a beautiful, white marble statue of
a winged man. The pedestal is inscribed with a
single word
“DYD-ALLU”
Further description is totally unnecessary, for every
child in Mur knows the story of the great pioneer of
flight, the man who first began the conquest of the air.
This name of Dyd-Allu will live in the hearts of our
peof/le to the end of time, for in opening the way to
our conquest of the air, he also restored to Mur her lost
greatness.
The story is here recorded as in the ancient manu-
script which for three cycles has been among the Royal
Archives, but w’hich has now, with age, become prac-
tically unreadable. The language in which the tale is
told has been changed to suit our modern tongue, but
the facts remain as in the ancient record.
In the forty-first year of the second third of the
twenty-eight cycle of Mur, the land was devastated by a
bloody war between our empire and our great northern
enemy, the Empire of Mingan. Our armies were deci-
mated, our navy defeated, and tens of thousands of our
warriors made prisoners.
The Mingans, the most callous 'and blood-thirsty race
on the earth, forced us to conclude a shameful peace,
among the terms of which they insisted on holding as
slaves the men who had been taken captive.
But this is not the history of that war — the greatest
defeat that Mur ever suffered — it is the story of one of
those prisoners, a man through whose genius and cour-
age, Mur was to regain her freedom and rise again to
a position of world domination.
After the conclusion of the peace, the Mingan emperor
ordered all prisoners to be set to work according to their
ability and training. Among the little group of nobles,
who had been captured, was a man of forty years of age,
who had been one of the most skilful of the artificers of
Mur. This man, Daedalus by name, with his young son
Icarus, had been captured in a raid on a Lemurian muni-
tion centre, and was perhaps tlie most valuable of all
the prisoners.
For some time he was kept closely confined in a cell,
as he had refused to assist his enemies in any way.
Finally, one day, an armed guard appeared. Unlocking
his cell, they ordered their prisoner to accompany them.
With a bold and careless stride Daedalus marched '
along with them. Only in his heart was terror unspeak-
able. He knew only too well what happened to recal-.
citrant prisoners, in Mingan. Never would he be able^
to forget the nights and days when, in his lonely cell,,
he had been forced to listen while, from the dungeoi,^,^
below, came sounds to chill the blood — groans of men
torment, whimperings of those exhausted by sufferings
screams of those whose torture was beyond endurance.
Still he knew that he would never aid his foes. Othg^s
had suffered and stood firm. He was a noble of
blood and could do no less.
Little did he know the craft and subtlety of Min-
gan emperor, that monster Kat-Su-Chang. vhose name
is still a byword, even in his own land, for fiendish cru-
elty. Through passage after passage he ^^s marched
until he was brought into a very chamber of horrors.
On a low seat sat the evil Kat-Su-Chang, while all
around were instruments whose ver> appearance struck
terror to the soul.
144
For a time they flew together. The clacking
rattle of their wings made conversation very
difficult, and it was some time before Daedalus
noticed that his companion was dropping be-
hind a little.
145
146
AMAZING STORIES
“Will you obey?” asked the emperor with a wicked
leer.
“Not though you tear my body to pieces will I do the
bidding of an enemy— least of all an enemy such as you,”
replied Daedalus. Then, for a moment letting loose
his iron self-control, he cursed Mingan and its emperor
with all the fury and bitterness of his passionate nature.
“Well now,” continued the emperor, after this out-
burst was ended, “If I were not a just and merciful
prince I should have you punished for that. I will, how-
ever, be generous and forgive the insults. Truly I know
of no man in all Mingan who possesses a tongue such
as thine.”
Daedalus, now again in full control of himself, snorted
his contempt.
“Do not hesitate, O ! Kat-Su-Chang, to entertain your-
self. Have no fear that I shall hurt you. A dozen
guards should be sufficient to protect you from the as-
saults of one unarmed prisoner, fat lump of evil jelly
though you are ! Show your courage, old man, my chains
will guarantee your safety now, but — be warned. THE
CURSES I HAVE CALLED DOWN ON YOU
SHALL BE FULFILLED!’’
The intensity with which this prediction was flung at
him was such that the old emperor, coward at heart,
paled to the lips. Then he shook off his forebodings.
“We shall see,” he remarked. Then, to the guards,
“Bring in the other one.”
From a side chamber appeared two soldiers leading
between them a lad of about eighteen years of age. As
they entered, Daedalus bit his lip to check a groan of
anguish, for the lad was his only son, Icarus.
“Now, friend Daedalus, I think you understand,” spat
out the evil king. “I think you will be glad to do as I
say!”
“No father !” burst out the boy. “Betray not Mur for
me. I can endure 1”
How bitter the struggle raging in Daedalus’ breast can
only be guessed. White-faced, he stood.
“You would not, could not do this thing!” he said at
last.
“Oh!— could we not?” came the sardonic chuckle of
the emperor.
A signal, and the boy was bound face upward on a
slab of stone. Then an executioner moved towards him.
I will not attempt to describe the particular form of
torture that was devised for young Icarus. Suffice it to
say that only the most calloused and brutalized of the
executioners could inflict it and retain their sanity. What,
then, must have been the sufferings of the victims.
As the executioner advanced, the emperor glanced at
Daedalus and, with a look of fiendish hate, said, “My
friend, fear not for your son. We are merciful. We
shall not let him die. My executioners know well how
to keep life in him — aye, and consciousness too — for
very many days!”
Daedalus remained immovable and silent — but not for
long.
The executioner was certainly a master of his vile art.
Daedalus had not believed that even the brutal Kat-Su-
Chang would go so far as actually to allow such torture
to be inflicted on a young boy, until — shriek after shriek
rang out from the boy's lips !
A moment longer he hesitated, then, as the cries of
his son continued to re-echo through the chamber, he
took a step forward.
“Enough, you fiend !” he cried with a groan. “I will
obey! Only give me my son!”
“I thought so,” was the emperor’s sneering comment,
as he signalled for the boy’s release. “Take them away.
Give him his precious son!”
That night, father and son sat for hours, locked in a
close embrace, gazing out of the little window of their
cell. Daedalus had bound up the lad’s wounds and
soothed the quivering nerves, and now the lad was
almost recovered.
In a whisper the older man confided to Icarus some-
thing of his plans.
“When they laid you on that stone of horror,” he
said, “a plan came to me. For a while we must pretend
to be docile prisoners. We must act sc that in time they
wdll begin to trust us. Then, I believe, my plan — ^mad
and impossible though it seems — ^will be workable and
give us a chance to escape.
“You wonder, perhaps, my son, why I did not agree
to that old devil’s demands at once and so save you from
some moments of agony. Forgive me, my boy, that I
let you suffer, but it was really necessary. I dared not
consent too easily. My agreement had to appear to be
forced from me. Now, they will have no doubt as to its
genuineness.”
“I understand, father,” whispered Icarus in turn, “It
zms terrible, but I can see that it was the only way. Tell
me, what is this plan of yours ?”
“Not yet, son,” Daedalus replied, “It is best that you
should not know until we are less closely watched. You
will then be able to act quite naturally under all cir-
cumstances and there will be no danger of their suspect-
ing you. Only, however, strangely I may appear to acf
at any time, remember to follow my lead in everything.”
Although they worked together and were housed in
the same quarters after removal from the prison cells,
yet they were given little opportunity for private con-
versation, They had, however, devised a secret code of
signals by which they could communicate undetected,
even when their guards were watching them. Without
this code it is very doubtful if they would ever have
succeeded in making their escape.
For about a year they worked as artificers in the great
shops of the Mingan capital. At first they were made
part of a gang of mechanics, but soon their work proved
to be so excellent and accurate that they were trans-
ferred to a separate building, where they worked at the
designing and building of complex and intricate ma-
chines. .Never did they allow their guards to suspect
the fires raging within them, and so after a while they
were allowed a considerable amount of liberty.
Each of the prisoners, who were engaged in skilled
work, kept a bound note-book in which he recorded all
work done. One day, apparently by accident, Daedalus
dropped his book, and out of it fell a sheet of paper.
The supervisor, being somewhat bored with his job,
glanced idly at it as it fell. Icarus, who was near by,
was about to pick it up for his father, when a code sign
stopped him.
Daedalus appeared not to have noticed the paper,
which lay on the floor in sight of the supervisor. This
latter, after the first glance, had taken no notice of it,
which was not by any means what Daedalus had in-
tended.
After a few minutes he again found occasion to refer
to his note-book. This time, as he opened it, his face
THE LEMURIAN DOCUMENTS
147
took on a well-simulated look of consternation. Acting
on another signal, Icarus looked up and, seeing his
father’s expression, exclaimed
“Father, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, son,” replied Daedalus. Then in a whisper,
which was, however, loud enough for the officer to hear,
“I’ve lost it I”
As he spoke he saw the Mingan look sharply at him,
then stoop down and pick up the fallen paper. Noth-
ing could have worked better !
A short time later the officer took his departure and
in the few minutes that elapsed before his successor ar-
rived, Daedalus was able to whisper to Icarus, “Fine,
son ! It worked ! Now be prepared for trouble !”
True enough, trouble was not long in coming. Two
days later they received orders to report to the Chief
Supervisor, who immediately took them to the emperor
himself.
For some time the evil old emperor sat and looked at
them in silence, but not a muscle of either of their faces
quivered as they stared back at him. Then he picked up
a paper, which they recognized as the one which had been
dropped from Daedalus’ book.
“Is this yours?” came the curt demand.
“Er — ^yes,” came back the apparently reluctant reply.
“But it is of no value.” Daedalus added hurriedly.
“What is it?” went on the harsh voice of Kat-Su-
Chang.
With a sudden change of attitude, Daedalus looked
up.
“I shall not tell you,” he replied insolently.
“Oh! Will you not? We shall see!” came the re-
joinder in a tone that, for all its silky smoothness, car-
ried a very evil menace.
Daedalus reply to this was merely an expressive shrug,
whose deliberate and studied insolence could not be
missed.
“Shall we then adjourn to the little apartment where
we last met ?” went on the smooth voice of the emperor.
“I am sure your son would be charmed to provide a
little entertainment. He has such a beautiful and ex-
pressive voice !”
As Kat-Su-Chang turned his head to summon the
guard, Daedalus made a quick sign with his hand, a sig-
nal that was at once read and replied to by the young
Icarus.
Silence followed. A silence charged with such devil-
ish import that the two prisoners could scarce keep
their self-control.
As the guard drew aside the curtains to enter, Icarus
threw himself at his father’s feet with a sobbing cry.
“Father, oh my father ! I cannot ! Coward that I am,
I cannot face thai dreadful torment again! He is our
master. Give him his will, but oh! spare me, my
father !”
For a while his sobbing pleas increased in violence and
intensity, then his father, obviously struggling with him-
self, burst out, “So be it, son !” and turning to the now
chuckling emperor, “Once more you win, Kat-Su-Chang,
but my hour will yet come.”
The paper, Daedalus explained, was a part of the plan
of a machine which he had devised for enabling men to
fly in the air. At first the emperor was inclined to scoff
at such an idea, but something in Daedalus’ manner con-
vinced him that there were possibilities here of securing
a great secret for Mingan.
Finally he turned to his Chief Supervisor and said.
“Take those prisoners back and put them to work to
complete their plans and build me a machine such as they
speak of. And” — he paused significantly — “see that they
do it.”
In silence and with bowed heads, Daedalus and Icarus
returned to their quarters. Not by the slightest sign
did they betray the fact that they had tricked old Kat-
Su-Chang into doing the very filing they wanted. In
fact, two more dejected and utterly cowed prisoners
would have been hard to find anywhere in Mingan.
No time was lost in starting the new work. The two
prisoners were eager to get it done for in it lay their
one chance for freedom. All the same they knew that
they must play a very keen game of wits with their
crafty and suspicious captors.
Their eagerness and the rapid skill with which they
worked, were cleverly hidden under a mask of reluctance
and what appeared to be deliberate delaying of the work.
On more than one occasion they were threatened with
the whips for their laziness, but always they were careful
to avoid the appearance of actual rebellion, causing only
such delays as would seem natural for unwilling prison-
ers to attempt.
The machines which they had planned were very dif-
ferent from the great planes and helicopters of today.
They were to copy the actual flight of birds. Such
machines are no longer to be seen in the world, but,
since they were the means by which we eventually at-
tained to complete conquest of the air, a short descrip-
tion of them will, perhaps, not be out of place. Those
who are mechanically minded will find this description of
considerable interest. Others are advised to skip this
section.
For some years before his capture Daedalus had spent
a great deal of time studying the flight of birds. He
knew that man has every muscle needed for flying, but
that these muscles are so small and undeveloped that
they are of no practical value in any attempt to fly by
means of purely mechanical wings.
In thinking over the problem of human flight, he had
concluded that it would be possible with attached wing
formations, provided that the power of the muscles could
be amplified and reinforced by some device. The diffi-
culty had always been that any such device must of
necessity be somewhat complicated, and this had meant
such great weight that it would be impracticable for that
reason alone.
His introduction, unpleasant though it had been, to
the beautifully designed machines of the Mingans had,
however, finally convinced him that it would be possible
to construct a usable device. It was a rough sketch of
this that he had deliberately allowed to fall into the
hands of Kat-Su-Chang.
Now that he was made to work on his own machine
he was, of course, allowed to requisition such supplies
as he needed. In general he ordered only sufficient for
the construction of two machines, but for some parts he
obtained enough material for making additional pieces,
giving as his reason that he needed to experiment with
differing types.
The wings were his first consideration. He had found
out that the curved surface of the bird’s wing was the
most efficient, and so he designed a framework of similar
shape. The wing span was about sixteen feet. This he
knew to be small for the weight to be lifted, but he
148
AMAZING STORIES
feared that a larger wing would be unmanageable in a
variable wind.
For his framework he used a tubular structure of an
extremely light but strong alloy* carefully braced to move
as a rigid structure when operated by the movement of
the arms.
On this frame he very carefully fastened a complete
covering of a light semi-flexible material** arranged in
overlapping strips. These strips were hinged and kept in
place by very light springs, and so arranged that on the
up-stroke they opened and allowed the air to pass
through them. On the down-stroke and when the wing
was stationary they remained closed, of course.
The great difficulty was to get a sufficiently quick
movement to the wing on the up-stroke to give it an
actual rise. The tendency of the body to fall was apt
to prevent the apparent upward movement from being
anything but a relative one.
This difficulty was overcome by making the wing in
two sections, the rearmost part being rigid and tending to
prevent a rapid fall of the body. (It was, of course,
from this rigid wing that we got the idea of our modern
plane.)
The actual making of the wings was far from being
as simple as it sounds. (It should be remembered that
the only tests that could be applied to the machine were
laboratory tests. There was no possibility of making
any experiments of a practical nature). Each individual
“feather,” as they called the narrow strips, had to be
exactly right and fitted to its neighbors, so that the whole
structure would form an air-proof surface.
Then, too, Daedalus knew that a bird’s wing does not
move straight up and down, but has a kind of forward
curving motion on its down-stroke. To copy this move-
ment by the motion of the arms was not difficult, as it
somewhat resembled the action of swimming, but to
design the wing so that the motors could reinforce the
arms in this peculiar movement, proved extremely dif-
ficult.
At least a dozen designs of connections were tried and,
finally, one which seemed the best was adopted. Here
was a case where the extra material was made use of.
The rejected parts were not destroyed (as would have
been the case if all the materials had to be accounted for)
but were laid aside in case they were needed again. This
enabled Daedalus to substitute in a machine a part of
inferior design, while keeping the perfect one ready to
be slipped in at the last moment, when the opportunity
for escape should occur.
This plan was adopted with several parts of the ma-
chines so that the two ornithopters as they stood in the
workshop, apparently all right, were really incapable of
being used. By this means the inventors made sure that,
if they could not fly them themselves, no one else should.
They knew that if anyone tried to fly with the incorrect-
ly rigged wings, he would kill himself and, incidentally,
smash the wings beyond hope of repair.
When the wings were finished, the problem of steering
was tackled. For this an arrangement something like
the steering and tail fins of a modern plane was used.
This arrangement was controlled by the feet and legs.
Next came the difficult part — the design and arrange-
are not certain, but from the description it may have been an
alloy of beryllium.
^ '**Prom subsequent events it seems that this must have been something
similar to our celluloid.
ment of the motors for amplifying the arm movements.
The great problem was to employ a sufficient number
of motors without making the total weight more than a
man could carry. In addition there was the question of
carrying fuel for the motors, and, indeed, this was really
the main difficulty.
The arrangement and construction of a group of light
motors was carried out without much difficulty. In fact
the Mingan types of motors were so efficient that the
total weight was even less than they had expected.
The question of power supply was finally solved by
Icarus, who invented a device something like a storage
battery, but of exceedingly great capacity in comparison
with its weight.
Even so, the total weight of each ornithopter was very
close to two hundred pounds, and it was obvious that
a man would not be able to rise directly from the ground.
Like the eagle he must start from some eminence and
gain .initial speed by a downw'ard dive. The roof of
the workshop was therefore prepared for this, and the
machines were finally assembled up there with merely an
awning to protect them.
When the work was nearly finished, Kat-Su-Chang
paid a visit of inspection to the workshop. He poked
around trying to look wise, but it was very obvious that_
he understood very little of what he saw. After making
a great .show of examining everything he turned to
Daedalus.
“So you expect to be able to fly with these things?”
was his questioning comment.
“Yes, of course, we do,” came back the surly reply.
“Well, my friend,” responded the sneering old em-
peror, “That’s just where you’re wrong. Do you think
that old Kat-Su-Chang is such a fool? Did I not see
through your little plan when , you began to build two
machines ?
“How easy for you and your son to fly away once
you got into the air !
“Did you really think you’d get by with it? Now
isten,” he went on, a harsh grating tone creeping into
his voice, “Your so clever plot is all nothing. I’ll tell you
what will happen!
“Before you make any trials you will instruct two
Mingan officers in the use of the machines. Oh, me!
they will not make the first flight, their lives are far too
valuable.
“The first flight will be made by your son, and he will
go alone. He’s a fool like all you Lemurians. He will
not try to escape without his father. If he is killed, it
is of no consequence. If not, then my officers will make
their flights, after which you will return to your prison
and forget all about flying machines.
“Eool,” he went on, lashing himself into a rage, “Had
we never discovered your plans you might some day have
gone free. We Mingans know how to reward a brave
man, even if he is an enemy. Besides,” he added as an
afterthought, “you might have been more useful to us
that way.
“Now you have sealed your own fate. Never shall
we let you escape to take your secrets back to Mur !”
As usual, Daedalus stood silent, looking at the old
Mingan with an expression of utter contempt. He
knew well that this expression was the one thing that
got under that tough and callous side.
“Well, have you nothing to say about it?” rasped the
now infuriated monarch.
THE LEMURIAN DOCUMENTS
149
“No,” replied Daedalus, “It’s exactly what I expected
you would do.”
His calmness roused Kat-Su-Chang to a pitch of
almost maniacal fury. For a moment it looked as if a
session in the torture chamber was about to follow.
Then, realizing that the machines were not finished, and
that until they were finished, they would be of no use
to Mingan, the fat old man, oh the verge of apoplexy,
strode with what little dignity he still possessed, from
the building.
“Now for it !” whispered Daedalus to his son, as soon
as the coast was clear. “Let’s get busy!”
Before the official hour for stopping work, they had
unostentatiously removed all the dummy parts, inserted
the real ones, and generally made the machines ready
for flight.
Back in their cell, they took out their note-books and
from the covers and back of these they extracted a num-
ber of small metal tools. These they concealed about
their persons.
Not for nothing were they the most skilled of arti-
ficers. It had been a dangerous, though not very difficult
job for them to make and secrete these tools as occasion
presented itself.
Not for nothing had they taken particular notice of
the daily searching of their persons and clothing. Every
stitch of their clothing, they knew, was examined every
time they left their work, but never were their note-
books examined if they put them down on the table
when the search was conducted. Only if they carried
them in their pockets did the guards think to examine
them.
About an hour before dawn next morning they silent-
ly opened the locks of their cells, slipped out and re-
locked the doors behind them. Then, cautiously, they
crept up to the top floor of the building.
A drowsy sentry lounged in the corridor leading to
the roof. To get past him was their biggest task. With
infinite caution they moved forward, gliding along close
to the wall. The light here was never good, but it was
enough to betray them if the sentry should suddenly be-
come suspicious.
Taking from his sleeve a tiny catapult, Icarus fitted a
small object into it and, aiming at the door beyond the
guard, he let drive.
, The tiny projectile, a small vacuum bulb, struck the
door and burst with a loud smack. Instantly the sentry
swung around and aimed his weapon at the door. With-
out an instant of hesitation Icarus sprang forward, and
the unfortunate guard, before he could recover from his
surprise, found himself seized in a powerful grip. A
hand over his mouth prevented any outcry and, a
second later, Daedalus’s thin steel blade had pierced
his heart.
It was only the work of a moment to take the keys
and open the door, leaving the sentry apparently still
ounging against the wall of the corridor.
The fitting on of the wings occupied some time. On
the ground they were clumsy and heavy at the best of
times, and now the two men were forced to work in the
dark and- without making the slightest sound.
They had timed their escape well. Their wings were
scarcely adjusted when the first streaks of dawn began
to brighten the eastern sky. This was exactly what
they had planned. It was light enough to allow them
to avoid obstacles, and yet obscure enough to give them
a chance to get well into the air before they were de-
tected.
For a long moment they looked into each other’s eyes.
Each knew that it was the supreme moment of their
lives. Death or triumph would be theirs within a few
moments !
Daedalus climbed up on to the parapet, closely fol-
lowed by Icarus. Then, together, they dived headlong
into the air.
Down they drove, faster and faster. Would their
wings support them or would they crash to death on the
stone paving below?
A movement of the wings and the fall became a curved
path. With fifty feet to spare they swooped upward in
a long gliding arc. The tense moment of uncertainty
had passed. They were FLYING!
Using the long curved sweep of the arms that they
had practiced so carefully, they began to beat the air
with their great wings. Those few persons who were
abroad at that early hour stood agape to see these huge
bird-like creatures slowly rise with an undulating grace,
and fly off towards the coast.
Before the prison guards had time to grasp what had
happened, the two aviators were a couple of hundred
feet in the air, and before anyone had recovered suffi-
ciently to give the alarm, they were safely outside the
city. •
Kat-Su-Chang’s rage on hearing the news was ter-
rible. He raved and swore; he threatened his guards
with every imaginable torture; he vowed to wipe Le-
muria from the earth.
In fear and trembling a guard approached with a mes-
sage. The emperor snatched it from him and read:
“Good-bye, Kat-Su-Chang. In the name of Mur we
thank you for all the assistance you have so generously
given us in perfecting the art of flight.
“You will pardon the somewhat unceremonious man-
ner of our departure, will you not?
Dyd-Allu ) Princes of Mur and
Ik-Arru > Lords of the Upper Air”
Then indeed did Kat-Su-Chang go mad. His attend-
ants and guards fled for their lives. Such Berserk
rage even they had never seen. Woe betide any one
who gpt within range of that human fiend !
Neither knowing of nor caring for Kat-Su-Chang’s
troubles, Daedalus and Icarus flew onward, now climb-
ing upward, now gliding gently downward again. All
day long they traveled over the boundless ocean, until
for very weariness they were ready to fall.
Towards sunset they sighted a small island, and, soon
after, spent and famished, they landed on its shores.
Hiding their wings in a small cave, they went inland
in search of food. The island appeared to be unin-
habited, but they found sufficient wild fruit to satisfy
the worst of their hunger.
For two days they rested, and on the third morning
they set out again, starting this time from the edge of
a cliff.
For a time they flew together. The clacking rattle
of their wings made conversation very difficult, and it
was some time before Daedalus noticed that his com-
panion was dropping behind a little. He slowed down
and signaled to the lad, who replied that he was all right,
but had slowed down to rest a while.
At noon they stopped for a while on another little
islet. It was there that Daedalus first noticed that
150
AMAZING STORIES
Icarus seemed to be trying to hide some difficulty from
him. The older man determined to find out what was
the trouble, and finally made Icarus confess that his left
arm was troubling him. Some of the muscles of his
left side had been injured by the torturers and had
weakened under the strain.
There was, however, no alternative but to continue.
To leave him behind on that little patch of rock, without
food or shelter, meant certain death before he could be
rescued. Daedalus went over and made some more ad-
justments to the boy’s wings.
“There,” he said, “I have set your motors on the left
side at their maximum power. They will support you
now without your having to use so much effort, but be
careful of them. Do not try to fly too high or the in-
creased strain may overload them and cause them to
heat too much.
For another couple of hours they flew on. Icarus
seemed to be getting along without difficulty when they
sighted a vessel below them near the horizon.
If Lemurian, they were saved ; if Mingan, they must
avoid recognition.
A closer approach soon showed it to be an enemy.
Their only hope of safety lay in passing the ship at a
high altitude, so that they might be taken for large
birds. For Daedalus, this was easy, but for Icarus it
was somewhat risky. His motors were already rather
too hot from the extra load they were carrying.
He didn’t hesitate, however. Forcing his weakened
muscles to their limit, he beat his way upward, driving
his wings as fast as he possibly could.
Those on board the Mingan vessel did not take much
notice of them as they winged their passage overhead.
As had been intended they undoubtedly took them for
very large birds.
For a mile or two they continued at an altitude of
about two thousand feet. (A rough estimate made by
Daedalus later on, when he had become more experi-
enced), then they commenced to glide downward to cool
their motors.
Too late ! Even as they began to drop, a tiny wisp of
blue smoke appeared over Icarus’ shoulder!
Frantically Daedalus motioned him to dive, even into
the water if necessary.
It was of no avail. Within five seconds the scorching
motor had set fire to the “feathers,” and almost im-
mediately Icarus was a roaring mass of flames.
Helpless, Daedalus circled round his son. To be
forced to watch his only child perish in such dreadful
fashion, almost in the hour of victory, was bitter indeed.
For a moment he came near to diving into the sea along
with his son. Then, remembering his empire, he re-
covered himself.
Slowly, oh, so slowly, Icarus seemed to fall, but at
length the flaming mass plunged into the ocean with a
sizzling splash. All was over!
Only a few charred embers remained to mark the
grave of the first martyr to the science of flight!
Wearily and with a broken heart, Daedalus swung
sadly away and took up his long flight again.
Near sunset of the third day the people of the city
of Fua-Tak saw a great bird approaching from the sea.
Never had they seen so gigantic a bird. It seemed making
for the city, as though wounded or exhausted.
Crowds began to gather.
What was their amazement when they at last per-
ceived that this was no bird, but a winged man! Was
it one of the Gods? Were divine favors to be showered
on their city?
The weary traveler flew on until he reached the open
space before the governor’s palace. Then, unsteadily and
with difficulty, he came to earth on the very palace steps.
The weight of the machine was more than he could
support in his exhausted condition and, as he landed,
he fell forward on his face, but before the waiting and
mystified governor could reach him, he rose to his knees.
Supporting himself on one hand, he made the official
sign of greeting between princes.
Word was sent immediately to the emperor at Rapani,
and arrangements w'ere made to transport Daedalus to
the capital — his own urgent request.
It was, however, two days before he was fit to travel.
Out of sympathy for the loss of Icarus, the governor
ordered that there should be no celebration made in
honor of the great event. When Daedalus was told of
this, he called the governor and said to him:
“Prince, I appreciate deeply your kindly thought for
me, but neither I nor my son would wish you and our
people to mourn for him. He died a hero and an ex-
ample to all Mur. Let the celebration go on. Today
begins the return to greatness of our empire. The secret
I have brought back will make of Mur the greatest em-
pire the world has ever known. Therefore mourn not,
but rejoice!”
Daedalus was carried to the capital in one of the
swiftest and most luxurious land-cars. His journey was
a triumphal progress. All along the route the enthu-
siastic crowds greeted him with flowers and cheerings.
Governors of cities and of provinces turned out to meet
and entertain him with royal honors.
The last official stop was at a little city about thirty
miles from Rapani. As the procession drew up in front
of the palace of the governor, a powerful car came from
the direction of the capital.
With a shriek of brakes it stopped by the side of
Daedalus’ car, and out stepped the emperor — the All
Serene himself.
The remainder of the journey, and the entry into the
capital provided, I suppose, the most elaborate spectacle
ever seen in all the empire.
After the official welcome at the palace, Daedalus,
exhausted by the strain, was unobtrusively taken to the
palace, where for several days he remained in seclusion.
Meanwhile, three of the largest battle cruisers of the
navy escorted the royal yacht to the spot where Icarus
had fallen — as nearly as could be estimated. No trace
of his machine could be found, but, as a mark of honor,
a royal salute was fired. Then the surface of the ocean,
for hundreds of acres, was strewn with flowers.
The stories of the development of the Air Navy of
Mur during the years that followed, and of the subse-
quent defeat and overthrow of the Mingan empire, which
ever after remained a semi-vassal state, are history.
Daedalus lived to see the full result of his work. He
had the joy of seeing Mur once more the greatest power
on the earth.
He has gone to his son these many generations, but
so long as Mur shall stand, the white marble statue of
the winged man will need no other inscription than the
single name
“DYD-ALLU”
The End
151
The Metal Doom
By David H. Keller, M.D.
{Continued from page 119)
admit it. We know a lot more than the men of the first
Stone Age but I am not sure that our superior intellect
makes us better able to cope with the problems that
face us. But one thing is sure. We have to save the
worthwhile people ; the race has to go on. It may be con-
ceit on my part, but I feel that we are better fitted to
make the future race worthwhile than were the men we
killed today. I think we ought to build this fort. We
can have our architect draw plans for it and I think I
know the very place to put it. And we will all get to
work. There it a little colony ten miles below us. I
will go down there and ask them to join us in building
the fort and they can share if with us in time of danger.
We will build it along the lines Hubler suggested and we
will call the place Fort Telephone.
“I am sold to the proposition. I do not want to
force any of you to it, but you must see that it is the
sensible thing to do. If any of you differ with us, you
can leave the colony. It may be easier to wave a quill
pen than to wrangle with a telephone pole but in the
long run the telephone poles will help us live longer.
“For this era is going to be long in stabilizing. It is
going to be the survival of the fittest. It is a test of
courage. We will build Fort Telephone.”
End of Part One.
The Return of the Tripeds
By Neil R. Jones
{Continued from page 135)
Upon the surface of the ocean the long lost Zoromes
made the acquaintance of the Tripeds. Professor
Jameson then narrated an account of all that had taken
place since over five hundred years before when 25X-987
had left them in command of the space ship.
Within the wrecked space ship of the machine men, in
which the Tripeds had discovered Professor Jameson,
the Zoromes reconditioned themselves with the large sup-
ply of metal legs, tentacles and cubed bodies. The space
craft had even been supplied with a few empty heads.
“How are we to get back to Zor ?” asked 744U-21 con-
templating the wrecked mechanism of the space ship
with a wave of his tentacles. “The space ships of the
Tripeds are much too slow for interstellar travel.”
“Bring it to our planet of Grvdlen,” advised Glrg.
“There you will possess the facilities to repair or rebuild
your ship of space.”
To Grvdlen they went to the Triped’s home planet.
Concerning the Emkls, Glrg made the following an-
nouncement.
“The blue dimension is infested by countless millions,
perhaps billions, of the Emkls. At a later date, more of
the Tripeds will return to the first planet and wipe them
out systematically and scientifically, now that our suc-
cessful pioneering expedition has paved the way.”
The sixteen Zoromes resided upon the second planet
of the double sun for nearly four years, rebuilding their
space ship. When they left for the general direction of
distant Zor, their number was increased to twenty.
Four of the Tripeds had become machine men, having
had their brains removed to the metal heads of the ma-
chines. Glrg, Ravlt, Jbf and Brlx were no longer
counted among the ranks of the Tripeds.
Manned by the twenty Zoromes, the space ship left the
solar system of the double sun, speeding rapidly toward
the far off stars and new adventures.
The End
OUT APRIL 20th
— Spring-Summer Edition —
AMAZING STORIES QUARTERLY
Containing the following science fiction:
“Invaders from the Infinite,” by John W. Campbell, Jr.
“The Water-bound World,” by Harl Vincent
“The Ant with a Human Soul,” by Bob Olsen
“The Hole That Grew,” by E. D. Johnson
On Sale at all Newsstands — April 20th — 50c the Copy
The
aves
of T^ele
By John M. Corbett
T\ELE, the powerful, mysterious, incomprehensible Goddess of Fire! What
Jr is her secret? Many are the legends and fantastic stories that attach them-
selves to this mysterious goddess; many the reasons for the periodic sudden erup-
tions and just as sudden subsidings of the volcanoes in the vicinity of the Kilauea
Crater. Our new author offers his version, which seems to us no more fantastic
than other stories which have at some time been confirmed to some extent. At
any rate, this is a well-told tale and full of interesting theories.
Illustrated by MOREY
W HEN the inter-island steamship Mauna
Kea went down with all hands in
Alenuihaha Channel, between Maui and
Hawaii, there perished my very dear
friends, the Fischers. Martin Fischer,
who had been my chum in college days, was Assistant
Director of the Volcano Observatory at Kilauea, where
he and his wife, formerly Helen McClaren, resided.
I had visited them many times while on leave from the
Fort ; and to say that I was shocked and sorrow-stricken
would be putting it mildly. It is not surprising, there-
fore, that in view of our close friendship, I presently
found myself acting in the capacity of executor of the
small estate, as the result of instructions left by Martin
in his will. And it was while going over his papers that I
ran across this manuscript, together with a letter asking
that it be immediately published.
Of course I have read it before sending it along ; and
to me it clarifies certain things that have always been
obscure — ^things I did not fully understand at the time
they happened. And since the attempts of the United
Empire of Asia to gain control of these Islands, since the
alliance of China, Japan and the Philippines in 1973, has
become known, I feel, more than ever that this story
should become the property of the American peopled
Lieut. James Haskel, U. S. A.
78th Co. Coast Artillery,
Fort Kamehameha, T. H.
A N ancient Hawaiian legend concerns Pele, God-
dess of Fire, whose home is far down in the blaz-
X JL ing Pit of Halemaumau, that lurid spot of activity
in the gigantic crater of Kilauea, which lies among the
fern and koa (acacia) jungles on the slopes of Mauna
Loa. To the imaginative mind, the strange irresistible
power just beneath the smoldering crust suggests the
supernatural ; but to Helen and me, who have dwelled so
long beside this throat of Hell, it is a constant reminder
of that time in the past, when we saw the wrath of the
Goddess wreaked upon those, who would have ruined
our lives —
Rarely passes a night but the fiends of memory soar
down to roost over my tormented slumbers, so indelibly
did that experience sear itself into my conscience. Awak-
ening last night from the horrors of sleep, I made a re-
solve ! I would write down all — all of the details which
we alone share with the Goddess. Then perhaps would
my tortured conscience find the relief it has so long
sought in vain, I would not wait even until the morning
so eager was I to set into motion this new idea of escape
from my tormentors. Throwing a wrap about me, I
crossed to my window.
Out there glowed the night light of the sleeping God-
dess Pele. Its reflection threw into relief the beetling
precipice of Uwekahuna, which towers five hundred
feet, guarding the western flank of Kilauea. Faintly
to my ears came the subdued muttering of the Sleeper
within the Pit. Halemaumau, bedchamber of the awful
Goddess of Fire, glowed rubescent as her crimson lava
coverlet billowed with restless movement.
Perhaps she, too, was assailed by memory spirits of
the past — for had she not been my accomplice in that
which happened so long ago? Perhaps she, too, would
presently awaken with a deep throated cry, to fling off
her crimson robes! Then, indeed, would the surround-
ing countryside look to its safety. For when Pele arises
from her red couch, stark terror strikes to the marrow of
all in her path. But to my story!
Eleven years ago, when first I made the acquaintance
of the Goddess and of the Observatory, I was fresh from
the States. Elated at the honor of being chosen for a
position in that observatory and eager to take up my new
duties, I had landed at Honolulu in high spirits. Every-
thing was unusual in this Paradise of the Pacific! As
I rode through the crooked, narrow streets of the city,
strange sights and odors greeted me. Strange and mys-
terious faces rose before my eager vision.
I had cabled my old friend. Lieutenant Haskel, who
152
■J’ftJ
Smythson had reached
the bottom rung of the
ladder and started his
frantic climb as the ter-
ror reached in all direc-
tions over the floor.
mWm
153
154
AMAZING STORIES
was stationed near Honolulu, to meet me. He had sent
a message that he would be unable to be at the dock,
but would call at my hotel in the afternoon. Passing
through the city, I soon arrived at the Moana, where, in
accordance with my instructions, I found my new Chief,
Professor Jantz, aw’aiting me. After a brief talk, he
left me to my own devices, with the information that
the Hilo boat, which I was to take, would leave in two
days.
Shortly after lunch, which I had on the broad veranda
overlooking the famous beach of Waikiki, with Diamond
Head looming up to the left, Jimmy Haskel arrived ; and
the ensuing hours passed pleasantly indeed, as we re-
newed our old friendship.
“I say, Martin !” he suddenly exclaimed, as the after-
noon drew toward a close, “I’ve invited two or three
friends in to join us for dinner and a dance at the Out-
rigger Canoe Club — Major McClaren and daughter,
Helen, and Miss Rutherford, who is visiting them from
the mainland. And, by the way, she — Miss Rutherford
— and I, have been engaged since I was last in. the
States.”
“A word in time to the wise, eh? Well, I shall try
to confine myself to Miss McClaren !”
At which we had a hearty chuckle, and I went to my
room to dress for dinner.
And so it happened that I met Helen. We danced to
dreamy waltzes that quivered from steel-strung guitars
and ukes, and as the barbaric music stirred through
my veins, I knew that I had met the girl I had thought
did not exist. Slipping out between dances we strolled
along the strand, where the breathless beauty of the
moonlit night and the murmur of a gentle surf helped to
strengthen the invisible cords which seemed slowly to
be drawing us together.
Upon returning to the club, I was presented to a tall,
cadaverous Englishman, by name of Smythson, who had
obtruded himself upon the party during our absence.
I could see that Haskel, who had made the introduction
with ill-concealed detestation of the man, was for the
moment free, as I was also a moment later when Smyth-
son suavely appropriated Helen, claiming the next two
dances. I thereupon joined Haskel, both in detesting
the man, and in a cigar upon the veranda, where we
found a couple of empty chairs.
“Just who is this Smythson, Jimmy?” I asked.
“No one knows for sure, though many of us would
like to,” exclaimed my friend, scowling darkly. “He’s
a perfect devil among the women ; otherwise he is some
kind of a power in the Asiatic Utilities, Ltd., and it is
whispered that that company is subsidized by the new
Asiatic Government.”
“Rather a renegade then, I take it?”
“Well, yes, but still able to insinuate himself into the
best of society here! But, confidentially, our secret
service has its eye on him as also has Asiatic Utilities.
You may run across him over on the ‘big island’ occa-
sionally, where he drops from sight at times for several
weeks.”
“You do not appear dead sold on him, and I cannot
say that he makes a favorable impression on me, either,”
I ventured.
“Hardly ! Especially after the way he snatched Helen
away I” chuckled Jimmy. Fortunately my features were
in shadow.
How little did either of us think of the manner in
which I would actually ‘run across’ Smythson, or of
what his influence would be on my after life.
When the dance broke up I had an invitation to lunch
with the McClarens the following day; and during the
interval which was mine till boat time, Helen acted as
my willing guide in the exploration of the scenic won-
ders in and around Honolulu. But the most indelible
impression that I carried with me, as the little steamer
rounded Diamond Head and shoved her stubby bows
across Kaiwi Channel, was not of the beauty of the
city or of the grandeur of the lofty peaks of Oahu that
rose so majestically to pierce the clouds in the receding
distance; but of a girl whom I had come to love in
the short time we had been together.
Next morning we landed at Hilo and motored up to
the observatory, where I hastened to put my baggage
in order and take stock of my surroundings. The ob-
servatory is located on the north-west brink of the
crater of Kilauea, and houses all the intricate scientific
instruments, that are used in the study of this volcano,
nature’s most stupendous work. A couple of hundred
yards to the north, and across the road that comes up
the mountain from Hilo, stands the Crater House, the
hotel which has sheltered thousands of curious tourists.
F or three months I applied myself diligently to my
new work. I received a couple of letters from Helen
during this time, and answered ; purely conventional cor-
respondence that gave no hint of my feelings. At the
end of the third month Professor Jantz left for a week
in Honolulu, leaving me in charge of the observatory.
I felt that I was progressing quite rapidly, and took
pride in answering the questions of our almost daily
visitors from the hotel.
At the end of the week the Professor returned late
in the afternoon. He went over my reports approving-
ly; then turned to me.
“By the way, Fischer,” he remarked casually, “I just
left some friends of yours over at the Crater House!”
There was a twinkle in his eye.
“Friends?” I exclaimed in surprise. “But I haven’t —
it surely can’t be the McClarens?”
“Quite so !” he replied, giving my shoulder a fatherly
pat. “Now run along and don’t let me catch you around
here for a couple of days at least. I’ll look after things
till they’re gone.”
The sly old fox.
In almost no time I had changed into decent clothing
and was presenting myself at the desk. Helen came
down in answer to my call, and I held her hand for a
longer period than is conventional, I fear.
“What a pleasure!” she exclaimed. “You know, I
had to tease Father quite a while to get him to make the
trip. We heard the volcano was quite beautiful at this
time, and I’ve only seen it once before. But here we
are !”
I drew her to some chairs outside, where we chattered
aimless nonsense till the Major found us. At their
urgent request, I joined them at dinner in the hotel;
and agreed to guide them the following day.
We were up early the next morning. Helen appeared
in khaki coat and breeches, with long leather boots. She
made a striking picture as we started down the trail
leading into the northern part of the crater. Only one
thing arose which disrupted my peace of mind — the in-
formation that they had met Smythson in Hilo, and
THE CAVES OF PELE
155
that he would be up the following day. He was evi-
dently keeping close track of the girl! However, I
swallowed the bitter pill, and prepared to enjoy myself
while I might.
Scrambling over the rough and winding path that
crosses the dead lava sea that floors the crater proper,
we at length came to the upward bulge that forms the
lip of the fire pit. At this point could be heard the
hiss and flow of lava in cracks far below the surface,
and heat issued from every crevice. With every sense
on the alert, we reached the last of the slope and stood
in awe at the edge of the pit !
Seventy feet below us the lava surged and rolled,
lapping hungrily at the base of the cliff and slapping
immense crags which rose from the center of the lake.
The ever changing surface bubbled and boiled, while
gas hissed through the white-hot waves. Whirlpools
formed. Cross currents rippled and pulled the molten
crust into long curves and strange designs. Suddenly,
gas pressure from some awful cavern just beneath the
surface blew forth, throwing lava spattering and hissing
far across the lake, accompanied by a hoarse roar, while
the surface heaved and circlets of waves went lapping
the distant crags and walls of the awful pit.
Fountains many feet in height formed at intervals
over the heated surface, throwing up spattering columns
of liquid fire; then as suddenly to subside, while the
white turned to red, then to gray, as the liquid gradu-
ally crusted. Then, for perhaps half an hour the lake
would appear placid and calm, unbroken by any but
slight disturbances ; the hot crust smoking and hardening
to several inches in thickness. No sound now but the
occasional rattle of falling debris from the walls, and
a faint ominous swishing of the molten stuff beneath
that crust.
But not for long would Halemaumau remain thus!
The pent up gases increase their pressure. Suddenly,
great cracks rend the crusted lava with jagged reports ;
white-hot lava pours through and across great slabs of
crust, which unbalanced, heave ponderously, and with
a terrible slithering noise slide beneath the white-hot
rippling surface into the terrible depths! Slab after
slab, some acres in extent, following in rapid succession,
till the entire lake is again one seething, bubbling mass
of molten lava.
We spent the whole day near the pit, moving only
when shifting fumes made our positions untenable. As
darkness fell, the scene became even more beautiful and
terrible. The indescribable play of kaleidoscopic colors
on the shifting, swirling clouds of smoke and gas,
seemed to produce an atmosphere, not of this earth.
A full moon lit our path back to the hotel. Before
parting, I extracted a promise from Helen to accompany
me on a trip of exploration to the lava caves — ^the
Caves of Pele — 3 . mile or so down the mountain side.
We planned to start early, thus being well away before
Smythson arrived. The eagerness with which she ac-
cepted the invitation led me to believe that she would
be glad of thus avoiding the visitor. The Major de-
cided to remain at the hotel to meet the Englishman.
We started just after sun-up. For a mile our route
followed the Hilo road, before reaching the path that
plunged to the right into the fern forests. We gained the
trail in about half an hour, and had seated ourselves on
a fallen koa log just off the road for a few moments,
when a large motor car whizzed by. I caught a brief
glimpse of Smythson in the tonneau; but he did not
see us. Helen also had seen him, and as I turned to
her again, a slight shiver seemed to pass over her. As
the morning was warm, I drew my own conclusion as
to the cause.
“Helen!” I blurted out. “Does that fellow bother
you a great deal ?”
She flushed.
“Oh, it’s not so bad, really, Martin,” she said. “He
does seem to hang around a good deal but he’s always
been most polite and considerate.”
“Just the same you don’t like him, do you?” I made
bold to state.
“Why no ! Not exactly. Somehow he gives me the
creeps when he looks at me ; though why, I don’t know.
I have nothing against him.”
I made no reply to this; but I was acquainted with
his type and might have offered some explanation. I
held my tongue, however, for the time did not seem
propitious.
“Well, let’s be going,” I said, after a brief silence.
Rising, we soon entered the deeper gloom of the drip-
ping fern grottos. A few feet off the trail on either
hand, one would have been completely lost to the world,
so rank and tangled were the tropical growths — tower-
ing ferns that arched thirty feet above our heads — sinu-
ous, exotic vines, that choked the life from the mon-
strous koa that here and there rose above the roof of the
forest. Ghastly, ethereal wisps of steam floated through
the damp undergrowth, escaping from cracks almost
filled with rotting vegetation.
P RESENTLY, in the depths of the jungle, we came
upon the entrance to the great caves; a jagged hole
formed when the roof of one of the passages had fallen.
Lowering our lunch box and supplies, we lit the lantern
and I went first down the rickety ladder. Helen fol-
lowed, and we stood on the pile of rough lava, that was
formerly the roof.
On either hand Plutonic passageways melted into
impenetrable darkness, the light from our lantern but
accentuating the dense gloom, which closed around us
like a crouching monster of the lower regions, Helen
shivered and unconsciously pressed closer to me. Gath-
ering up our pack, and looking to see that our flashlights
were handy. I headed into the tunnel to the right, which
led westward toward the region of the crater. A few
yards found the going easier. The walls were of a
smooth, black basaltic glass, formed by the fusion of the
rock, when ages ago a stream of white-hot lava had
forced this passage through the bowels of the earth.
For an hour or more we threaded our way through
the labyrinth, stopping occasionally as I mapped our
course and checked distances for the map which we were
making of the district. Seepage from the ceiling dripped
on us almost constantly. What a place in which to be
lost! I shivered at the thought.
Shortly after twelve we reached a great chamber,
hundreds of feet across, filled with grotesque pillars and
crags. Here we rested and ate some of the sandwiches
we had brought. We had penetrated almost two miles,
but still the great system spread endlessly before us into
the darkness.
Completing my lunch, I left Helen with the lantern
and began a search about the great cavern with one of
our flashlights. Climbing and stumbling over and around
156
AMAZING STORIES
fantastic masses of lava, I came at length to a jagged
crevasse whence floated wisps of stream. The yawning
chasm stretched from wall to wall. I had about decided
to return to Helen, when my torch fell on the opposite
wall, where a conical pile of debris rested its apex just
under the entrance of a strange appearing tunnel-mouth.
My curiosity aroused, I skirted the great crack till I
found a narrower part, and leaped across. Scrambling
up the rough pyramid against the wall, I soon gained
the passage.
Its significance lay in the fact that it had been hewn
by human agencies. Here and there the crumbling roof
was shored up with cunningly placed timbers, and from
the appearance of the dusty floor, the place had seen
recent use. Now I knew that not a dozen persons had
ever penetrated this far ; and could think of no explana-
tion for my discovery. I went slowly along, past two
or three turns, when I perceived a sudden flash of light
far in the distance.
Something moved me to snap off my own torch, and
in the darkness I retreated to the angle in the walls that
I had just passed. The distant light showed nearer at
the next flash. I was about to step out and hail, when
suddenly I seemed to sense a presence behind me ! There
was no sound, yet that disturbing feeling that some
one or some thing had crept up on me in the darkness
persisted. With a single movement, I flashed on my
light and whirled about — to receive a crashing blow on
the head, after which all things ceased for a time.
When I came to my senses, I was lying bound hand
and foot upon the bare floor of a great cavern, which was
lit brightly by a dozen electric arcs suspended from the
high ceiling. I turned my head, that threatened to split
from a blinding headache. Far away, on the opposite
side of the place, shadowy forms of men appeared mov-
ing among what looked like a huge jumble of boxes and
crates. They were too far off for me to see their
features; and I gave up trying, as the sound of voices
near at hand drew my attention.
With a start, I recognized Helen seated upon a box;
a tall man stood before her, his back to me. Something
vaguely familiar about his carriage, and the sound of
his voice, stirred me; but I could not force my jumbled
thoughts into action. I closed my eyes and tried to
calm the throbbing in my head. When I opened them,
the man had left Helen and was walking away across
the cavern. It was Smythson!
Helen was kneeling beside me, whispering, “Stay as
you are! Don’t let them suspect you are loose!”
And I felt my bonds loosen under the keen blade that
she produced from some mysterious hiding place.
Smythson had reached the end of the cavern, and fol-
lowed by all but two of the others, descended from view
into a depression that seemed to fill all of that quarter
of the place.
“Keep your eyes closed !” the girl continued, bending
over me as though examining me for possible wounds.
“If we don’t get away, it will be terrible! I haven’t
time to tell you all he said.”
I had no time to form an opinion, as our captor pres-
ently reappeared at the head of the ladder, that led into
the lower level: and paused a moment to shout some
instruction to those below. I noticed, as he turned, that
he had an automatic at his belt and at the instant a bold
plan flashed through my rapidly clearing head.
“Get the rat to bend over me,” I whispered, “and
I’ll have a try for his gun which is in an open holster !”
The girl nodded in quick understanding, and stepped
back as the fellow approached, wringing her hands in
apparent trepidation.
“Look! You have killed him!” she cried.
Muttering a curse, the renegade came up and bent over
to examine me, even as I had hoped he would. The
moment had come ! Just as his face came close to mine,
my left arm shot up and around his neck, while with my
right I slammed a chunk of lava which I had been grasp-
ing in the shadow. He went down without a groan, and
I thought I had killed him. I had the automatic almost
before he touched the floor.
Across the room the two men who had been left
started toward us, but at a flourish from the gun they
turned and ran toward the passage by which I suppose
we had entered.
“Quick, Martin!” gasped Helen. “Come this way!
They have guns over there!”
Hand in hand we raced to the ladder up which the
now unconscious Englishman had come. No one was
in sight. Almost stumbling in our haste, we reached the
bottom, only to find ourselves standing by the side of an
electric mine-towing car. The rails entered a tunnel in
the walls on either hand. I did not know which direction
to take ; but it was certain we must move, as the shouts
of the two men above came nearer; they were bolder
now, no doubt, since they had secured arms.
Not daring to hesitate, we leaped aboard the car. I
had operated similar machines during my mining course,
and quickly found and pressed the starting lever. We
began to glide along swiftly into the right-hand tunnel.
As we gained momentum, I hastily noted the contents
of a half open box upon which I was crouching, and a
chill struck me as^ I recognized our cargo of nitro-
glycerin just before the lights from the cavern failed us!
A moment of fumbling and I switched on the powerful
head light, and a second later swept around a curve.
Far ahead the searching rays picked out the forms of
several men, who turned toward us as the light fell upon
them.
“Smythson’s men!” I snarled, jerking the operating
lever back and applying the brakes. The car ground to
a stop.
“Well, we’re in for it now, I guess. There’s no re-
verse on the damned thing.”
We scrambled down, and an inspiration struck me.
Reaching over, I jerked the operating lever to full speed
ahead. For a second the wheels spun, sending a shower
of sparks against us; then the car leaped forward to-
ward the now shouting and excited group up the track,
gathering speed at every yard. It rushed upon them, and
they were forced to flatten themselves against the walls
as it swept by.
I N an instant, where they stood was utter blackness;
but out of the gloom came cries in a foreign tongue,
in which I thought the note of awful fear predominated.
And well it might, as we were soon to witness! We
turned, and ran stumbling back the way we had come,
expecting each moment to feel a bullet tear into our
backs.
As we sped out of the tunnel into the light of the
great cavern, the staggering form of the Englishman
confronted us, blood dripping from the gash in his head ;
but the menace of his own pistol forced him aside as we
THE CAVES OF PELE
157
raced for the ladder. The mouth of the opposite tunnel
was just swallowing the forms of the two others, one
of whom turned and raised his rifle. I pulled the
trigger; and he slumped to the earth, a look of surprise
and pain distorting his features. His companion fled
precipitately.
By this time, Helen had climbed rapidly up, and I
started to follow, when the terrific roar of the explosion
rocked the earth. Our car had reached the end of its
journey and of all usefulness!
The Englishman had turned back to face the tunnel at
the moment of the explosion, and stood swaying slightly.
A distant muffled sound as of a river tumbling through a
rocky gorge began to reach our ears. Puzzled, I stood
near the top of the ladder, waiting I knew not for what.
, With every second the rushing noise grew louder,
assuming the roar of a torrent. From far down the
passage a single piercing shriek of mortal fear and
agony came suddenly, clear above the roar of the fast
approaching, unseen something. The renegade still
swayed on his unsteady limbs, eyes glued to the dark
hole as though hypnotized.
Suddenly, a hoarse cry was wrenched from his blood
flecked lips! Turning, he lurched toward the base of
the ladder, a look of terror suffusing his ashen features,
the like of which I pray never to see again. At the same
moment a reddish glow grew brighter at the mouth of
the tunnel. With a shout, I sprang quickly up the few
remaining rungs of the ladder, and turned to see a
molten stream of lava belch forth into the lower reaches
of the cavern, accompanied by a roar as of the surf !
Acrid smoke and heat filled the place. Smythson had
reached the bottom rung of the ladder and started his
frantic climb as the terror reached in all directions over
the floor. A crooked, writhing finger licked out and en-
veloped the base of the ladder. The wooden sides melted
with a flash and swirl of smoke ! For a moment the long
ladder, unbalanced, tottered there over the fast spread-
ing current of death. Even at that moment, God will
witness, I reached forth a hand to save it from the crash
— but too late! Slowly it swayed ever outward, and
with the screaming, ill-fated maniac still clinging desper-
ately to the rungs, took its final plunge into the awful
flood!
Turning, the half fainting girl and I raced up the
slope past the boxes piled there. Even at that crucial
moment my sight registered the gigantic stores of arms,
ammunition, and crated field guns !
Through a nightmare of blind stumbling through tor-
tuous passages; of tearing our flesh against the jagged
rocks, but ever ascending higher and farther from that
death dealing current in our rear, we finally staggered
into another lighted cavern. This time, however, it was
the light of day which filtered through to us from a
crack in the vaulted roof !
The great crack extended through the wall and nearly
to the floor. Summoning our remaining strength, we
scrambled through, bleeding and exhausted, to fall among
the cool growth of ferns that grew all about. I do not
know how long we lay there in a semi-conscious condi-
tion. To us came the far off subterranean sounds of
explosions. Several times the earth rocked beneath us,
and I dragged Helen farther away from the chasm, lest
we be thrown back into the depths.
It seemed but natural, a little later, that she was
nestled in my arms ; while I breathed incoherent tender-
nesses into her ears.
And as she laid her lovely head upon my shoulder with
a tired sigh, I needed no word to tell that she was hence-
forth mine.
The sun was just sinking over the smoking peak of
Mauna Loa when we staggered into the road that passes
Kilauea-Iki. Ten minutes later we were in the spacious
tonneau of a car from the Crater House, being plied with
questions from the Professor and Helen’s father, who
had become alarmed enough to start in search for us.
That night we learned that the lava in Halemaumau
had dropped from the seventy foot level to the six hun-
dred and twenty! This, then, was the source of the
crimson flood W’e had loosed, when I had sent forward
the load of explosives to the end of the tunnel ! The
nitro-glycerin had ruptured a partition that allowed the
lake of fire to drain away through the earth; much as
it had done countless times in the past, but without the
aid of humanity.
By tacit consent, Helen and I refrained from mention-
ing the fate which had overtaken Smythson and his
Asiatic associates, or the fact that we had seen them at
all. To our relief, the Major stated casually that the
Englishman had called at the hotel, and learning of our
absence and destination, soon left with the announce-
ment that he had been called on a trip to Japan. And so
Horace Smythson passes out of our lives, and many are
those who may wonder at his disappearance!
The following day came news that the flow from
Kilauea had found its way to the sea through subter-
ranean passage ways, emerging slightly west of
Keauhou ; and that a great commercial submarine belong-
ing to the United Empire of Asia which had been in the
vicinity, had escaped from the boiling waters by a nar-
row margin.
At this, I pondered over the connection of the under-
ground tunnels with their trackage and electric cars,
the stores of war, the emergence of the passages upon a
little known stretch of coast, and of the presence of the
Asiatic ship at this spot. I knew that I might now be
lying cold in some deep chasm, while Helen might be
far at sea in this same submarine ! But Pele has chosen
to intervene.
Thus closes my narrative, and the secret locked so
long within us is out!
I looked out of my window to where the first rays
of the rising sun touch the ascending cloud of vapor
from the Fire Pit; shooting with darts of indescribable
color the mass as it slowly drifts to the west. Many
times in the years has the Pit filled and emptied; but
Pele still remains the powerful, mysterious, incompre-
hensible Goddess of Fire!
The End
By Stephen G. Hale
Author of “The Laughing Death”
direct response to the many requests for a sequel to Stephen G. Hale’s
’"The Laughing Death,” we are glad to give you, complete in this issue —
and this story is complete in itself — ’’Worlds Adrift.” Fortunately, the plot is laid
far in the distant future, so we can read about the slight miscalculations in time
and speed with thrilled excitement, but with a feeling of complete equanimity
and reassurance in the back of our minds. ”W orlds Adrift” is scientifically plausi-
ble and very convincingly told.
Illustration by MOREY
My Judges
I T is difficult to resume a tale after the lapse of
years. Some of the incidents seem to become un-
related, the original setting to fade into dim un-
reality. Taking up my pen again to write of the
events after Joel Murch and I had become sepa-
rated, each to his own half of the Earth, is like trying
to put into motion idle machinery that has been left to
rust too long in varying weather : the parts are oxidized
and worn down to a sameness that is confusing; I do
not know where or how to start the narrative for, as I
relive those days in my mind, the events either all take
on an equal importance or again fade into a sort of limbo
where nothing matters, where nothing has value or
perspective.
I must, however, write the story for some day, when
my body has dissolved back into its original chemical
constituents, I can imagine my children, even Kakomos,
my youngest, extending fingers of scorn and accusation
at the memory of me ; I can imagine them assembled, a
sea of earnest faces, in a court of serried rows, sitting
in judgment upon my deeds.
“He fooled with the atom,” I can hear them say in
the absence of any written record, “he tampered with
God’s forces.” “He conceived the theory for the vehicle
of their dismemberment, he saw a way to harness their
terrific power. When Joel Murch had built those me-
chanical monsters, the Metal Worms, our parent did not
discourage him; no, if anything, he lent his whole-
hearted approval and cooperation. When the fiendish
contraptions were put to work he did not stay to watch
them as he would his own life, but entrusted the task
to others. Thus someone was free to approach, unsus-
pected, to wreak his revenge upon the world, to set
loose one of these dread machines, to release forces
that in a space of time all too brief had cut our Earth
in two, like an overripe apple. What did our parent
do in the meantime? He did not lift a finger, he sat
and waited for the end! Brothers and sisters, is our
parent guilty or not?”
And then I can hear a low hum and then a scuffling
of feet as my brood rises and with one accord condemns
me with thumbs down. Thus is my memory crucified.
Hilda had foreseen matters differently. One evening,
back in those days, she had led me aside into a secluded
corner of our retreat safe from our growing family.
She had tried to ease the burden. I remember the set-
ting well: museum pieces were all about us, working
models of industrial operations, the conversion of
waste wood and cellulose into cattle and poultry food,
the production of electricity at the mine head, experi-
mental aircraft for penetrating beyond the atmospheric
belt, all were there. It was a noisy setting at that hour.
The city’s ruins were the hiding places for a weirdly
mixed animal population. At the fall of darkness these
creatures came forth boldly into the open and the din
of their cries filled the air. Added to this were the
buzzing and screeching of ugly insects that cluttered the
sills of the windows or settled in swarms on the backs
of awkward forms that lumbered by below. Hilda
raised her voice.
“No change yet. Bob?” she asked. “Still troubled?”
I didn’t reply. I dislike repetition. Conditions did
not change; they were the same day after day; no
gleam of hope, no hint of another world for us.
“Don’t let it get you,” she admonished. “In time
you’ll forget how we used to live. Our children will never
know differently and as for ourselves — why, we’ll for-
get everything — no, not everything,” she corrected her-
self. “There are some things that will stay; you’ll al-
ways remember the rending of the Earth. The sounds
will always be in our ears. In time these memories
will gray down to faded images, nebulous, hazy. When
158
The moon spreads out over my portion of
the heavens. Watching it intently I can
see it grovf larger and larger. . , . The
telescope shows results — floating dowtt —
momentwn broken by the recoils.
f Sf '
' K-' ^ )
i fimi
! j
159
160
AMAZING STORIES
we tell the story to our children, or they read your
account, it will form a legendary genesis for our new
existence.”
I was mordant, querulous, aging ; my hair had turned
gray.
W E went out, picked our tvay over the upturned
pavements to the Precipice where I had lost one
of my children. That fearful drop, that 8000 mile cliff
where the globe had been ripped apart, had not yet
healed. Perpetual geysers, raging furnaces and vast
clouds of steam and flying cinders still moved over the
vertical plateau. We looked from the darkness of
night into the brightness of day. There was neither
twilight nor dawn. Night and day met here sharply.
“It’s not natural,” I groaned. “I’ll go mad !”
“No, you won’t, Bob. We’re just in another world.
Just pretend. Our Earth’s lopsided and it goes tumbling
through space in a crazy fashion, but we’ll get used
to it.”
Why talk in circles? I did not forget. I couldn’t.
Hilda was wrong. Memories surged upon me, beset
me from all sides. I heard Joel’s voice again, I sat
with him here in Logan Square, I felt him clap me on
the shoulder; I lived it all pver and over again. We
were once more in our Willow Grove laboratory, smok-
ing, arguing, working, watching the swirling atomic
world in its haze of blue and violet, once more we were
digging gigantic subways and cities under the ground
to fend off the- hurts of war, remaking civilization ac-
cording to our lights, once more watching in futile,
silent agony the dread work of destruction that came
at last. The thought of it was unbearable. If Joel had
only remained ! Then we might have fought and con-
trived and perhaps risen above our new environment.
I shook myself and looked upward. No, Joel was up
there, thinking of me, perhaps, up there on the Second
Earth, a pale orange shape, riding high over the arch
of the heavens with the Moon trailing astern. Why
had I to be left the sole mature male? Why hadn’t
fate cast me with Joel and the millions who had crossed
the shaking bridges and found safety up yonder?
The Call
W ELL, we can sit day after day and month after
month until time becomes eternity and we can
feel a gnawing inside and we can ascribe it to
what we will and then suddenly some trivial matter,
some incident will set a flare to that inward fretting and
show us the cause is not what we thought. So it was
with me. I was constantly hailing myself before an
imaginary tribunal, measuring out untold agony for
myself for the part I had played in that last earthly
drama, only to find in the end that the sore which afflic-
ted me, which burned into me, kept me awake at night,
made me pace and growl in the day like a demented
soul, was of another kind. The revelation came about
suddenly.
We had been living in a certain routine which Hilda
and I had planned: the women cooked, instructed the
younger children and kept order in that huge building,
the Benjamin Franklin Memorial and Institute in which
we were quartered while the bigger boys and I, heavily
armed against the queer brutes released from the caves
of the Earth, journeyed afield. Thousands of motor
vehicles were at our disposal in the ruined city where
they had been abandoned at the bridge approaches in the
mad scramble for safety. Gasoline, alcohol and other
fuel were available, too, from the pumps dotting the
street corners everywhere. For our needs the supply
was inexhaustible.
Our trips regularly included the big cold storage food
plants of the chain stores where perpetual refrigeration
had preserved more food of every imaginable variety
than our tribe could ever hope to consume. From the
toppled skyscrapers and department stores we drew our
other supplies, clothing, tools, games for the children,
everything. There was not a need, not a luxury even
to gems and jewelry but search would reveal ready to
our hands in the wreckage about us.
Upon this particular occasion, I sought out what re-
mained of the city’s radio shopping center. Our oldest
boy, Ottokar, had evinced quite a surprising interest
and knowledge in wireless and radio. We found dozens
of stores practically unharmed from which we filled
our truck with a wealth of parts and instruments to
further Ottokar’s inclinations. We returned home to
the Memorial as we had many times before with no
thought of any unusual incident to disturb the quiet of
the evening hours.
After the supper dishes had been cleared away, Hilda
retired, as was her custom, to the upper regions of the
building to send out her radio calls into the thinning
atmosphere. This was a self-imposed task that was
never neglected. Tonight she went with a dispirited air.
“I’m tired. Bob,” she complained; “and I’m begin-
ning to think myself that it’s all in vain. There’s no
one else left on our Earth. We’re all alone!”
“Don’t go up tonight,” I returned. “We’ll turn the
lights off and have a few reels of motion pictures. There
are thousands of films at the Exchange all unharmed.
We brought some with us on the way back. Let Ottokar
take your place tonight. It will amuse him to talk into
space.”
But Hilda shook her head and mounted the steps
wearily.
At a nod from me, Ottokar followed. The rest of
the family gathered about me according to habit for an
evening of quiet chatting, perhaps reading aloud or, as
likely as not, talking about the dangers from beast, fire,
or disease that might lurk in our vicinity. A common-
place evening, a usual pastime.
Tonight, however, was different I heard rushing
footsteps on the stone staircase and Ottokar threw him-
self into the room, his face pale, his eyes aglow with
excitement, his arms weaving the air and showing by
every other token that he was bursting with news.
“The radio! The radio!” he gasped. “Someone’s
calling !”
We were up on our feet in a twinkling, his agitation
taking hold of us. As one we made for the wide stair-
case, but just in time I caught myself and waved the
others back.
Ottokar touched me on the elbow.
“They’re faint,” he warned, “the signals are very
faint”; and he slipped under my outstretched arm and
hastened back to the receiver.
“Better stay here, the rest of you,” I ordered, quiver-
ing so that my teeth chattered. “Years we’ve been wait-
ing for this. Keep quiet, everyone,” and I went flying
after Ottokar. A call ? A call ! Someone of our kind
WORLDS ADRIFT
161
somewhere among the smoking wastes of our slabsided
Earth! And then it happened.
Retribution?
AS I took the steps three at a time, I had a vision,
a memory that flashed upon my faculties with
lightning-like swiftness. I was in a rocking,
swaying building, a pin point in a world of tumult.
Once again Joel Murch and I were grappling with a
maniac; we were mad ourselves, bloodthirsty. We fell,
were up and down again, fighting blindly to kill him
who had become the menace to our civilization. ... We
found ourselves outside in a long silent hall, our quarry
making for the roof. We pursued him up there amid
the roaring flames to a wind-mill plane which bore us
all aloft. Our prey was escaping. . . .
Then another vision wiped out the first. On hands
and knees, wounded, bleeding, cursing, raving, I was
crawling through a maddened crowd expecting to be
crushed at any moment but still going on, with no other
thought than to kill, kill, kill, to make the hellhound
who had brought all this on pay with his life. . . . But
he had escaped!
I almost faltered on the steps. My heart was pound-
ing. Jubilantly! Hopefully! I knew now the nature
of the sore which had been burning me up inside, which
had robbed me of peace and rest. It was the will, the
hunger to mangle, to tear from limb to limb, to destroy
that arch enemy of mankind. Grubsnig! The very
name sent my mind reeling. He must die. In no other
way could I find peace again. I knew that!
Someone was answering our signals ! Who could it
be but this Russian radical? We had scoured the coun-
try for hundreds of miles, we had been calling, calling
religiously every night and we had found no one, heard
from no one. Grubsnig ! He alone would know how to
survive! Now he was in trouble. He was on our
Earth! Within reach, perhaps!
I found myself in the wireless room, panting, sweat-
ing, incoherent. Hilda was in a heap on the floor, but
I passed her by, making no note of her plight then.
Rudely I pushed Ottokar aside and clamped on the ear-
pieces. Ottokar left me, took Hilda below, as I found
later. The world might come to an end, all vestige of
it vanish into thin air forever, but if Grubsnig and I
were left I would not care. There was only one thought
uppermost in my mind. ... I was not sane.
The message was still trickling in faintly. Ottokar
had already set the recording device and the machine
was sending out an endless ribbon of ticker tape. A
quick glance showed me the message was the same,
repeated over and over again. Obviously some mechan-
ical robot was watching at the other end and at the
slightest response would click an alarm or put on a
warning light.
I stared at the dots and dashes, vacantly at first, then
with the realization that the message was not in the
Morse code, nor in any other readily recognizable. Yet
there was something familiar about the manner in which
the call came in. Evidently I must have heard it be-
fore in some past receiving. I leaped to the head of
the stairs.
“Hilda! Ottokar!” I called. “Come up here. It’s
Grubsnig ! It must be the Russian !”
There was no immediate answer. I was conscious of
an abnormal quiet below but again I failed to pay any
heed to my senses. I called once more, more impatient-
ly. Ottokar came a little reluctantly. The excitement
had passed from his countenance: he was paler than
before. I did not notice that he came alone.
“Hilda can’t come,” Ottokar spoke.
I waved that aside. “Hook up the transmitter, boy,”
I cried, “while I change some of the tubes. We’re
going to answer that call! Quickly, too. I>Iake it
snappy.”
“Have you decoded the message yet. Dad?”
I paused, non-plussed. “No,” I answered, “but we’ll
send out a call in Morse. Anything to keep him inter-
ested.”
“But we’ve been broadcasting for more than an hour
already !”
“Eh? Oh, yes. . . Well, we’ll increase the power.
Here, I’m throwing this cable out through the south
window. We’ll attach it to the Metal Worm. Hustle
down and hook it to that power cable painted red. It’s
down — yes, that’s it.”
The boy saw it but hesitated.
“Well, what’s the matter?”
“If it’s — it’s this Russian scientist,” he said, “don’t
run any danger. Dad. We don’t want to lose you.”
I made an impatient gesture.
“And, besides. Dad, if he’s mad, he isn’t responsible !”
From out of the mouths of babes ! He was but nine-
teen. I watched his broad shoulders receding down the
stairs and somehow my pulse beat less rapidly, I was
quieter. Ottokar was only an adopted son, a waif we
had found cringing and crying after that eventful night
but I loved him as my own. . . . But I was getting
maudlin, weakening. If that Russian was still about,
the lives of none of us were safe Sane or insane, the
chance was too great: his Nemesis must find him.
Last Suggestions
ABOUT a half hour later we had completed our
preparations. I turned the switch with a cer-
-L tain hesitancy. I was afraid that the current
would be too strong. It came, reduced, of course, from
one of the Metal Worms which was still creating elec-
trical energy and would continue probably to do so, far
into the distant ages. This same machine was now our
sole source of current. Our cooking, lighting, our
radio, everything now depended upon this one source.
Ottokar stood beside me, Vera behind me. Vera was
several years younger than Hilda and was her close
understudy in the care of our large household. Even
she trembled with anticipation for who would not in
our family? The radio had been our chief hope, our
mainstay, which even the youngest regarded with rever-
ence and respect. And thus it was we three stood, ex-
pecting we know not what.
The bulbs glowed with a dull iridescence. There
was no outward indication of the current that surged
through the set; but we knew: the meter was there
before us. I approached apprehensively and began to
send out my message. I became engrossed and saw
nothing but the few square inches of surface over which
my fingers were playing nervously. I felt a tap on my
shoulder. I made an irritable rejoinder and this time
a hand closed about my arm. Ottokar pointed. The
tubes were black, the set was dead!
162
AMAZING STORIES
“Too much- power, Dad.”
I found a seat, hot and tired I tried to think; but
my brain would not function. I saw Vera.
“Where’s Hilda?” I asked.
“Downstairs, Bob.”
“Tell her to come up. She knows more about this
radio business than any of us.”
A pause and then: “She can’t. Bob.”
“She’s unwell. Dad.”
“Hilda’s worked hard all these past years. Bob. She’s
been hard put to it lately, losing strength. . . . Worried.
. . . Afraid of the future.”
“Why didn’t someone tell me? I’m blind.”
“She wouldn’t have it and now she’s in a bad way.
. . . She’s dying. Bob !” and Vera started to cry.
I stood up, dazed.
“Dying?” I repeated. “Hilda dying? She must
not!”
I plunged down the stairs in the grip of fear. I felt
frail and helpless in the face of this new disaster. It
must not happen, it must not happen, I repeated to my-
self.
Hilda was in her niche, a limp, motionless shape on
the sheets, eyes closed, apparently already in her eternal
sleep. When, however, my shadow fell over her ghe
spoke but almost inaudibly. I slipped to my knees beside
her couch to catch her faltering words.
“Bob?”
“Yes, Hilda.”
“Too much . . . for . . . for me, Bob . . . excitement
, . . the . . . the climax . . . waited so long for it.”
I tried to stop her, to soothe her.
“The lights . . . too bright,” and she closed her eyes.
The lights were extinguished, leaving us in the soft
twilight glow of a street lamp. I remained beside her
bed, helpless, for this was a situation which I had not
expected to have to confront. I was not a physician; I
was utterly futile even though we had medical stores in
abundance. I did not know how to begin, how to diag-
nose, but as matters developed, there was nothing that
I could have done.
“Bob . . . the . . . message?”
“It’s an unknown code, Hilda,” I said, slowly, “yet
it sounds familiar.”
“Who . . .?”
“Who, but the Russian, Hilda?” I anticipated her.
My voice was even, low, without a tremor.
Her eyelids fluttered. She was not looking at me.
“I wonder . . . maybe . . . someone else,” she whis-
pered.
The children had gathered, recognizing that something
untoward was happening. One of them coughed,
smothering the sound until but a muffle of it reached the
bedside. The pallid lips moved.
“Mistake ... to ... to send in code,” she breathed
“Talk into . . . mike yourself. Bob.” Her voice grew
stronger; her will power struggled for supremacy. “Bob,
more power, too. . . . Use the . . . the Worm.” Her
hand fluttered toward her bosom. Vera bent down.
“What is it, Hilda?”
“Give him ”
Vera removed a sheet of paper which I found later
was covered with a sketchy wiring diagram, rendered
freehanded with a fountain pen. . It was Hilda’s work
and showed a new hook-up for our transmitter. Her
lips began to move again; I leaned closer.
“For the new power. Bob,” she said. “Use the V T
66 . . . tubes.”
“We haven’t ” I began.
“They . . . they were making some . . . International
Radio ... in Baltimore”
I remembered tales concerning the new wonderful
experimental tube in various scientific journals just
before the catastrophe.
“But, Hilda,” I said, quietly into her ear, “in Balti-
more?” Her eyelids moved. “You forget. Baltimore
was south of the Precipice. It’s no longer there. It’s
out in space now, Hilda, there, up there on the Second
Earth with hundreds of other lost cities!” and I pointed
to the orange half just visible in the upper part of the
window.
For a long time there was a heavy silence in the room
while we both studied the distant fragment. Hilda was
either thinking or resting.
“Bob,” she went on, “that tube . . . try Schen . . .
ectady . . . they had two.” Her eyes were still centered
on our twin Earth. “And,” she added sleepily, “some
day . . . you must . . . must bring . . . the parts . . . to-
together . . . the Earth, Bob!”
Vera signalled me away from the couch. Hilda was
breathing evenly, sleeping. We withdrew gratefully,
glad that slumber had crept up on her. While V'era
vanished into another part of the building to prepare
some chicken broth for Hilda, I went up again to tire
Planetarium where our broadcasting set was located. I
was in a brown study; my thoughts had been jerked
free, sent pell-mell winging their way into the future.
Hilda’s last words had unlocked a new avenue for them.
If Joel and I had conceived the machine which had
wrecked our world, why couldn’t I — but the idea was —
oh, I was tired, too! I sank into the nearest chair and
slept.
Strange Footprints
URING the night, Hilda passed away.
I did not know of the sad event until morn-
ing. She had slumbered on and then, without
waking, had drifted into that greater, more serene sleep
from which no one ever awakens. For the manner of
her passing I was glad; and though we mourned her
and missed her, the parting was the easiest and kindest
to all.
Her last resting place was in a vault under the sub-
basement of the Memorial. The other concrete cubicles
about her contained talking machine records, radio tubes
and other heirlooms of the recent past which had been
placed there for safe keeping for some remote race to
find in case all the other traces of our civilization should
have failed to outlast the centuries. If, however, our
own kind survived the ups and downs of the coming
ages, it was my wish that Hilda’s casket should be left
unharmed, that fitting honors might be bestowed upon
her for having been instrumental in saving our race
from extinction.
When all that could be done had been done, the others
filed out of the vault, leaving me alone with my loss.
I was dazed.’ The preceding hours had gone by some-
how for me; I had done this and that but my recollec-
tions were vague. A cloud had settled about my shoul-
ders. I was without a rudder. I felt impotent, worth-
less. Hilda had been the driving force: it was her un-
WORLDS ADRIFT
163
tiring energy and determination which had sent me and
the others out hunting for other human strays; it was
she who had welded us into one family, had kept hope
alive and had fought any let-up in the struggle to better
ourselves constantly.
My lack of initiative was noticed. Vera consoled me
in vain; the others joined with her, but I would have
none of it. Ottokar pulled me aside and spread Hilda’s
diagram for the new transmitter on my knee, but I took
it from him and strode out into the broken streets.
Ottokar followed me, but I soon eluded him among
the city’s ruins.
When I returned long. after dark, Ottokar was wait-
ing for me impatiently a short distance from the
Memorial. What he had to say was apparently in-
tended for my ears only.
“Dad, I followed you today,” he began.
“Yes, I know.”
“I feared you might come to harm.”
I did not say anything to that.
“But,’^ he went on, sheepishly, “I wasn’t clever
enough. I soon lost you. When I was sure of that, I
started back across lots. The rain, this morning made
the going muddy in places. In one spot I slipped and
fell and that’s how I came to notice it. There, sharply
defined, was the print of a human foot, bare, a man’s!”
“But,” I said, startled, “there are many footprints
left in protected places since the time of the calamity.
This one of yours may be an old one.”
“No, it’s a fresh one — and I found others!”
At that moment one of the women appeared on the
portico. I dismissed the subject hastily.
“We’ll look into the matter tomorrow,” I said, quick-
ly. “Keep mum about it.”
A fter dinner, feeling that I must do something, I
carried a signal-testing apparatus, with Ottokar’s
help, to an old stone building about two miles north of
the Memorial. If the signals were from the Russian, it
behooved us to discover in which direction his sending
apparatus lay, if for no other reason, then to fend off
a possible attack. We set up an aerial and worked
patiently far into the night. The Second Earth and its
companion, the Moon, were down near the horizon
when we packed up and returned to the Memorial
“What do you make of it. Dad?” asked Ottokar.
“I don’t know,” I confessed. “The signals were no
stronger, no weaker. We’ll try again tomorrow.” Then
I recalled Hilda’s words. “Mother must have been
thinking of the source of these calls, too,” I went on.
“She seemed to doubt that they came from the Russian.”
“There must be something to that,” the boy replied,
“because Mother worried about the radio quite a lot.”
“And that reminds me, Ottokar,” I said. “She had
a strange fancy at the end. She hoped that the two
halves of the Earth might be brought together again
some day. It sounds impossible now, but then I’m
getting to be an old man. I’m not as daring as I used
to be. If I should drop these mortal coils, my boy, and
pass away, I want you to carry on. Who knows ? You
might find a way!”
Thus I abandoned the idea; thus I shifted the bur-
den to the shoulders of a younger one!
In the morning we did not investigate the footprints
in the mud. Had Hilda still been there with us, the mat-
ter would not have been neglected. Her iron rule had
ceased. Routine became irksome, breakfasts were late,
we procrastinated. Imperceptibly other little signs in-
dicated the absence of a guiding spirit.
The Experimental Tubes
T hat afternoon, Ottokar and I finally loaded the
testing apparatus into a car and went jolting away
to the gutted remains of a tall building some four
miles to the west of the first one. Here we again set up
our equipment. After the evening meal we made new
tests with the same mystifying results. The signals did
not differ in intensity from those received at the
Memorial. We had hoped to note a change. During
the next few evenings, even though we carried our
testing outfit as far as thirty miles from the Memorial,
we could detect neither strengthening nor weakening
of the signals.
“Dad,” suggested Ottokar who had shown a pre-
cocious interest in Hilda’s radio work, “I don’t think
that’s a local broadcast. The signals do not come from
any set around here.”
“You’re probably right,” I agreed, awakening to the
fact, “but in any event the signals should show a vari-
ation in strength.”
“Suppose, though,” Ottokar added, “the transmitting
set was so far away that fifty, a hundred or even a
thousand miles wouldn’t show any variation?”
“What do you mean, boy?”
“I don’t exactly know, but couldn’t that be possible?”
“Yes, of course, under certain — I wonder if Hil —
your mother had the same idea ?”
We returned, communing with our own thoughts. At
the portal we separated and as soon as I could without
attracting attention, I tip-toed up to the observatory. I
entered stealthily but found the slit in the huge dome
open and a dark figure sitting in the seat under the
instrument. He seemed part of the telescope, so con-
centrated was his watch. Only when I stopped under
him was I discovered.
“That you. Dad?” in a small voice.
“Why, what are you doing up here, Ottokar?”
“Oh, just prospecting. Looking at the Second Earth.”
“See anything new?”-
“Nothing much. Same as usual.”
And that was all we said, but for hours we alternated
at the instrument, each probably with the same secret
idea in his mind. The flat side of the Second Earth
was toward us, slightly foreshortened, giving it the
appearance of an irregular ellipse, its major axis at
first in a vertical position and then gradually, through
several nights, sliding into a horizontal line, as if the
half globe with its teeming millions were moving through
space with a flopping motion.
The ellipse was lit up faintly with a pale reddish
light, a result either of “earth-shine” or reflected light
from our half, which must have seemed “full” to Joel
Murch on the Second Earth or a result of the fires that
raged on that vast open wound Hilda had hoped I would
close.
“Do you still think,” asked Ottokar as we descended
finally from the observatory, “that Dr. Murch is really
up there?”
“I do, my boy,” I said sleepily.
“Then, Dad,” he asked, “why haven’t we tried to com-
municate with him?”
164
AMAZING STORIES
I stopped in my tracks. Why hadn’t we?
“It didn’t occur to us, Ottokar,’’ I answered. “We
can’t, anyway.”
“Those VT 66 tubes — oh, I wonder if Dr. Murch is
trying to ”
“Those tubes in Baltimore,” I was suddenly excited.
“They’re up there with him now. He knew about them.
He must be using them. It’s Joel calling! It must be!”
“That would explain the failure of our tests !”
We hurried back to the receiving set.
“But the code,” I muttered to myself, “I don’t know
it!”
“It sounds familiar, though, you said?”
“Yes.”
“You once told me. Dad, about a code Dr. Murch
intercepted — the Russian’s.”
The boy was right. A half hour later we had de-
coded the message. It read, simply: “Joel calling.
Make sign. Wavelength 5.6 kilowatts 690,000.”
I was jubilant, overcome, so much so that I quaked.
I was a new man. Sleep was forgotten. I paced madly
up and down, paused before our transmitter and shook
my fist at it impotently I pointed to the message.
“Do you see that, Ottokar?” I asked. “690,000 kilo-
watts!”
“We’ve got more than that. Dad.”
“But the set wmn’t stand it!”
“Mother’s new transmitter ”
“We’re going to Schenectady tomorrow,” I cried.
“Perhaps we can locate those two experimental tubes.”
But we did not go to Schenectady the next day. Ex-
cept for ourselves, the same lack of initiative held sway
over the family. Breakfast was late. Little effort was
being made to get it. I berated the women. Outside
the children were at their play, still finding intense glee
in being able to leap fifteen, twenty or more feet in the
air. With the loss of half our globe, the gravity had
changed and even the youngest performed amusing as
well as amazing feats of agility. There was no harm
in their play, great value, in fact ; but routine had been
forgotten. It was not the hour for play.
I soon had them about their rightful tasks.
Dr. Tobias Brown
T he morning was cloudy, with a promise of rain.
I was reminded of the footprints Ottokar had
discovered. With a sense of liaving frittered
away precious time with probably the life of some hu-
man stray in the balance, I called Ottokar and several
of the older boys and set out to find the prints. Spread-
ing out in a fan shape we were able to pick up the trail
despite long stretches of pavement and stone. Had I
acted immediately upon Ottokar’s discovery instead of
letting the days pass, our task would have been in-
finitely easier. Lumbering beasts such as man had
never seen except in the throes of a nightmare had
mingled with more familiar creatures to trample over
the ground in the meantime; but despite this, we were
able to follow the almost obliterated marks and toward
the close of day, after we had wandered many miles
from the Memorial up through the dry bed of the Dela-
ware and over to the New Jersey side, we expected to
find our quarry at any minute.
Our search was concluded abruptly upon rounding
a tumbled pile of masonry. Like a disjointed worm, a
sewer pipe line lay all about us. From one section we
saw bare feet protruding while nearby were the re-
mains of a fire and the leftovers of a sketchy meal.
The man was a human wreck; one arm was gone, the
left side of his face was a hideous scarlet obviously
from a burn, his clothes soiled and in tatters, his body
emaciated either from loss of blood or lack of food or
both, his feet bleeding from stone bruises and his man-
ner terrified at our unheralded coming.
We took him back with us but, because of the ap-
pearance of his face, we could not coax him to join the
rest of the family. We, therefore, made a berth for
him in the observatory where he received such ministra-
tions as we could render him both for his internal and
external comfort. After his fear had been allayed by
our kindly intentions, he thawed out and proved quite
well spoken and possessed of an education out of the
ordinary.
We could not understand his apparently starved con-
dition when foodstuffs were so plentiful.
“I had not the spirit to live,” he explained, “nor the
courage to end it all. My past before — before this hap-
pened,” waving his one arm at the destruction outside,
“was a rather black one. It couldn’t have been
worse. . . .”
“That’s past now, Mr. Brown,” I hastened to assure
him. “This is genesis for all of us.”
He thanked me with a wry smile. “During the
height of it all,” he went on, wearily, “something
went ‘click’ in my head. My outlook on life and the
deeds I had done changed. I suddenly wanted to die,
and not being so lucky, I crawled away, bleeding and
in pain to be away from any who might be left. I did
not want to contaminate other people with my presence.
I saw matters differently. I was not fit. I could not
atone for the past and the past was ever with me. I
could not, cannot forget. I am constantly being re-
minded. My hair has turned gray. I’d do anything if
I could atone ; but life is not long enough for that !”
“Another man is quite welcome in our party,” I told
him, “and there is much to be done. . . . Odd,” I added,
my thought running in another direction, “odd, but —
but there’s something familiar in your voice — ^as if —
oh, it’s a fancy.”
The raw scarlet of his face had gone a deadly pale
color. I caught myself. Why scare the man? I
rambled on to another subject.
Ottokar was at the receiver. Brown picked up th^
tape and studied the message as it came through.
“This Joel — it’s not the famous Dr. Murch, is it?”
he asked and then bit his lip for his unguarded question.
I swung upon him.
“Yes, it is,” I replied, harshly. “But how do you
come to be able to read that code?”
His one arm came up before his face defensively.
“Don’t!” he groaned. “That’s part of my black
past.” He trembled, then calmed down while I waited.
“My name’s not Brown,” he confessed, “but still, re-
member me by that name. I’m a Ph.D., and all that,
though I suppose you’ve surmised that already. I . . .”
he hesitated, then went on more rapidly, “I fell in with
a foreigner who had even more learning than I. Un-
wittingly at first, then because I was already in and
being well paid, I helped him in nefarious schemes and
sometimes produced results for him in the dark, not
knowing their ultimate purpose. For the last months
WORLDS ADRIFT
165
I worked on queer problems for him, that code, for
instance but without the slightest inkling of what he
was trying to get at. I suspected, I knew that he was
crooked, but I was lulled into continuing. Perhaps it
was an hypnotic spell, perhaps there was something
wrong with me mentally.”
“Was his name Grubsnig?”
“Yes, though he went under other names, too.”
“Is he alive?”
“I don’t think so. He must have been killed in his
autogyro. I found the wreckage. I was looking for
him to — to kill him! . . . He often warned me about
this Dr. Murch: considered him the most dangerous
enemy to his secret plans. . . . I’ll be glad to meet Dr.
Murch, sir.”
“Meet Dr. Murch, Dr. Brown?” I exclaimed, taking
to him despite his former history. “Do you know where
Dr. Murch is?” I led him to the telescope. “Look
through there. We call that the Second Earth. It’s
the other half of our terrestrial globe. Joel Murch is
somewhere up there!”
“Oh! But — but — you mean he is sending messages
through space from up there?”
“Obviously.”
“Wonderful! Then he must have some of the VT
66 tubes ! . . . Yes, I’m acquainted with the tubes. At
Grubsnig’s request I — I stole the idea from the in-
ventor! Have these tubes worked in your transmitter
yet?”
“We don’t have the tubes and our transmitter is in-
adequate. We haven’t been able to reach Dr. Murch
yet.”
“Have you sufficient power?”
“I think so. We had the set hooked up to one of the
Metal Worms but the tubes went out.”
Brown became intensely wrought up. A happy light
spread over his scarred face.
“Then I can be of help, after all !” he cried. “We’ll
get the VT 66 !”
“Do you know where they are?”
“In Schenectady? Yes ... I know the very cabinet
they’re in — that is, if they haven’t been destroyed. Have
you got a plane, an autogyro?”
“There’s one back of the Memorial. We’ve warmed
up the engine often but never having piloted one be-
fore ”
“Easy,” he broke in. “Instinctive. I’m a pilot, any-
way. Come along. Show me where it is.”
“What ?” I exclaimed. “Going now ? In the night ?”
“Certainly.”
“But can you stand it? You look" ready to collapse.”
“If I do, you’ll be with me. I don’t matter.”
“But,” I temporized, “I planned to go in the morn-
ing in a truck or car.”
“Impractical. Would take you weeks. You might
never make it. Roads are — well, look outside at those
streets !”
I conceded his point, “Here, Ottokar,” I said, turning
to my boy and thumping him on the back, “get the sleep
out of your eyes. Wake a couple of the boys. Fuel
and oil the Jay Bird. Check her over and warm up the
engines.” I faced our visitor again. “No use. Brown,
going out yet. Save your strength. Ottokar will sum-
mon us when the ship’s ready. By the way, look at this.
What do you think of it?” and I handed him Hilda’s
pen sketch for a transmitter.
Brown studied the layout carefully. It was a very
rough but pertinent drawing. Brown nodded his head
several times and here and there interjected comments.
On the whole he was highly pleased with the diagram.
Brown took another sheet of paper and while I held
it for him, he redrew Hilda’s effort, making various
changes, changes which seemed trivial to me; but then,
electricity has always been and always will be a pro-
found mystery to me.
“Her ideas are good,” he commented, when he had
finished, “but there are some kinks I conceived which
it would be better to try first.”
I had confidence in Hilda’s ability and felt inclined
to voice such an opinion but I refrained. Argument
was not progress and now I was fired to get things
done. How I bewailed the idle years since the catas-
trophe during which I had done nothing to get in touch
with Joel. In fact, I had sat back waiting for him to
signal me! Night after night, while Hilda was at the
radio trying to find people on our own bit of the Earth,
my family and I would sit on the broad steps of the
Memorial, brooding over our fates, reeking with pessi-
mism and watching the Second Earth for a sign! I
said as much to Brown but he shook his head and dis-
agreed with me.
“You were doing exactly the right thing under the
circumstances,” he said. “You brought together such
remnants of the race as you could find, you sheltered
and protected them, you married and multiplied. Per-
haps from your family will spring the future races of
this half of the Earth. Who can tell?”
Ottokar’s entrance interrupted our conversation. We
could hear the droning of the motors outside. The Jay
Bird was ready. Ottokar wanted to go with us; but
being still urged by that new vim, desire, within me
to produce results, I drew him to one side, gave him
Brown’s sketch and suggested that he get busy by tear-
ing down such parts of the old transmitter as would
be rendered obsolete by the new scheme. His face
brightened up at this chance to be useful.
“May I go ahead and rig up the new one while you’re
gone, Dad?”
I laughed. “How long do you expect us to be away?”
I asked. “However, go ahead if you think you can
I T was amazing what the younger generation could
do ! Their minds worked nimbly with involved
equations, their lips dribbled complicated scientific
jargon that even I, a chemist with sundry letters after
my name, found confusing. We discussed this phase of
youth as the Jay Bird soared away through the night
toward Schenectady.
“It’s ever been that way,” Brown commented. “The
younger seem to know more than the older. Oftentimes
they do.”
The Jay Bird was flying high above the ground. The
flexible windmill blades over our heads were rotating
about 120 times per minute but their motion seemed
slow and the whole superstructure gave the Jay Bird a
sluggish, unwieldy, unairworthy appearance. Its speed, ,
however, belied this for we were doing more than 550
miles per hour, at times even more than 600! The Jay
Bird was the fastest plane of this type ever built. It
166
AMAZING STORIES
had been given a place in the Memorial as a museum
piece after it had flown the equator around the Earth in
a dawn to dusk flight.
At Schenectady we found the experimental laboratory
a shapeless mountain of masonry, concrete and twisted
steel. A fissure in the ground had cleaved the huge
edifice in half. We did not return to Philadelphia for
four days. Under the directions of my one armed
companion I sweated and labored with such tools as I
could find in the vicinity making an excavation into the
ruins in search of the vacuum tubes we hoped were
still there and intact. When I thought, that my back
would at last break under the strain, and when doubts
began to assail me as to whether Brown really knew the
location of the tubes, we uncovered a steel cabinet upon
which were certain cabalistic numbers. The cabinet
proved to be the correct one and contained the prized
tubes.
Twenty-five minutes later we were hovering over
Logan Square in Philadelphia. Ottokar and Vera met
us as we dipped down to the Memorial. Ottokar, I
noticed, was haggard, his face unwashed, his whole
appearance one of infinite fatigue.
“The tubes ?” he called. “Got them ?”
At an affirmative from lis, he clambered drunkenly
into the cabin and clawed at our cabinet.
“Help him, Bob,” Vera called. “He said he wouldn’t
rest until the set was operating and he’s hardly able to
stand now.”
“Is the transmitter finished?”
“Yes,” and in a lower key as I approached and greeted
her, “he’s worried. Bob. The signals are not coming in
regularly. Joel seems in trouble. The last message
was a plain SOS repeated over and over again fol-
lowed by a long silence, then the word ‘Farewell!’
He ”
But I did not wait. My stentorian voice rang out.
My boys seized hold of the cabinet and carried it up
into the transmitting room in short order. I tore my
shirt open at the throat, gulped some water and fell
to work with Brown and Ottokar.
But I was getting on in years. My mind could not
master my tired body. Twelve hours that day with a
pick, shovel and crowbar finally produced their effect.
While my companions were fitting in one of the mam-
moth tubes, I extracted another from the cabinet and
started for the transmitter. The two were not quite
ready for it; I lowered myself gingerly into a conveni-
ent seat, holding tenderly the odd, pumpkin-like glass
tube in my lap. No use standing, I reflected, and with
that my thoughts drifted away as gently and as aim-
lessly as a canoe drifting at dusk down a stream.
In Syzygy
I T was soothing to think. One had to do that on
rare occasions, especially when one’s best friend
seemed besieged by dire peril. Yes, clear think-
ing was required. Now this danger by which Joel was
surrounded — -what could it be? He, Bob, had always
considered Joel safe. One could hardly be otherwise
with millions of companions up there on the Second
Earth! And yet there was danger! Perhaps plague,
due to crowded conditions, had swept over the face of
the Second Earth? Perhaps the human race up there
was undergoing extinction in a general holocaust of
rampant disease. Then another thought : the Moon was *
238,840 miles distant or used to be from the spot where 3
be. Bob, was holding the wonder tube while the Second m
Earth, as near as he had been able to figure, was 50,000 ^
miles beyond the Moon at this time. Now how was ^
that — did the Moon revolve in an orbit about the Second '
Earth or did the Second Earth revolve about the Moon
or did they both revolve around him. Bob, and his bit
of the old Earth or did he revolve about — but it was too
complicated! Anyway, it was obvious that Joel and
the rest of them up there would sometimes see the other
side of the Moon, which no human had ever seen before,
that the Moon would appear at least five times as large in
Joel’s heavens as it did here, that to an observer many
highly important details on the Moon would be 'revealed
by this immediate proximity and — but — what a thought !
— perhaps that offside of the Moon was inhabited with
a teeming population! There might be atmosphere on
the other side of the Moon, perhaps only in hollows and
deep cavities, but still atmosphere; and furthermore,
no astronomer had ever proved that ice and snow did
not exist on that luminary — not liquid water, of course,
but ice and snow! A dreadful thought! The Moon
people might be inimical, positively threatening to their
new neighbors. At this moment Moon space-ships were
probably bridging the gap between the two bodies and
their crew dismantling Joel’s radio and slaughtering the
humans with strange, devilish weapons. Absolutely, if
people existed on the surface of the Moon, or in the
Moon’s interior for that matter, they must by the very
poverty of their environment be a more highly de-
veloped race! Of course! Certainly!
H’m, what could he. Bob, do about it? Suppose the
VT 66 tubes were successful, suppose he could talk
across the ether with Joel, of what use would that be
to Joel? No use whatsoever! Then what could he do
about it all? Why all this haste with the transmitter?
I was pleasantly unexcited and coldly rational. All
sorts of solutions swam before my mind’s eye. These
I inspected impartially as I would the neckties a counter
clerk in a department store passes before one ; and then,
suddenly, quite against my will, I was stirred, excited.
A giant form reared itself beside me and over me,
loomed upward higher and higher until its outline be-
came nebulous and the vast shape blotted out the twink-
ling stars in the zenith of our planetarium. I quavered
and quaked for I recognized the form. It was Hilda’s !
With fingers already too bony and gaunt for this
world she was pointing out toward the Second Earth.
Her index finger trembled a little as if with passion
but her words were slow, measured, like the beat of an
illimitable ocean upon an unprotected beach.
“When we’re in syzygy,” her cold lips said. “Don’t
forget. Bob, when we’re in syzygy!!”
I started to smile even as I shivered.
“When we’re in syzygy,” she went on relentlessly,
“you must mend the Earth, you must bring the parts
together !”
I roared with laughter at the impossibility of it. But
my laughter sounded out of place. I rubbed my eyes.
The towering shape of my visitant was melting down,
was diminishing. . . . The sun was in my eyes. Why,
it was not Hilda after all, it was Brown with his stump
arm waving tiny circles above my head.
“What an idea!” proclaimed Brown. “To mend the
Earth, to bring its parts together!”
WORLDS ADRIFT
167
“What — where ?” I began.
“You’ve been asleep for hours and hours !”
“Oh!” I closed my eyes and searched for a word
from out of my dream. It was like dipping into a
crystal clear lake for an object at the bottom only to
find when one sank one’s arm down into the water that
the pellucid transparency had vanished and the object at
the bottom had become elusive, its shape ever changing
with the ripples. However, I seized hold and brought
it out into the light of day.
“Syzygy !” I murmured, finally. “Brown, what in the
world does the word ‘syzygy’ mean?” and I waited to
see him laugh,
“Syzygy ? Why syzygy,” he replied, “is an astronomi-
cal term. When the Sun, Moon and Earth are in line.
We say they are in syzygy. In conjunction, you know.
But what was the joke? A little humor wouldn’t be
amiss to improve the general spirits around here.
There’s Ottokar just coming to. You woke him. As
for me, I feel — ^well, let’s have it. You were laughing
at syzygy, were you ?”
“No. At the notion of bringing the two halves of the
Earth together” ; and I told him about my dream.
“If you cut an apple in half,” replied Brown, soberly,
“you can always bring the halves together, can’t you?”
“Yes, but the case isn’t the same.”
“Why not ? Perhaps in the coming ages, someone will
discover a way to reverse the process and bring the ter-
restrial fragments together. Really not at all funny,
after all,” he finished.
“No, I suppose not,” I answered, now fully awake.
“Hilda — why Hilda on her death bed and Hilda in my
dream — they both said the same thing!” Thinking sud-
denly of the V T 66 tubes, I plied Brown with questions.
“The tubes were just what we needed,” he replied.
“Ottokar had the transmitter completely rigged up and
wired, though where he got some of the new parts is a
mystery. I haven’t had the chance to ask him. yet. The
transmitter works perfectly with the stepped-down volt-
age from the Metal Worm.”
“Yes, yes,” I returned, impatiently, “but what about
Joel? Did he receive your message ? Has he answered ?
What danger is he threatened with? What — ?”
“We don’t know,” he answered. “There isn’t any
doubt about our calls having penetrated interplanetary
space; we’ve been using over a million kilowatts; but
there is no answer. Dr. Murch’s set has been silent ever
since that SOS call, so Ottokar tells me. It’s foolish
to jump to mad conclusions, but it’s equally inane not to
face facts. Dr. Murch’s radio must have been damaged
or he himself — well, he may even be beyond all human
help!” At a suggestion from Ottokar, who had joined
us, he went on: — “While studying the Second Earth
with the big telescope during your nap, we detected,
first almost imperceptibly, then more clearly, a slight
discoloration on the flat side. Its hue was rust-like.
This patch of color is spreading gradually. It’s now
about three to four centimenters in diameter and still
increasing in area, though the increase is slowing down
and can be measured with the instruments only.”
New Hopes
F ollowing this conversation, we lived through
a very ineffectual week. The futility of it was
maddening. I pictured the best friend I had ever
had sorely imperilled, perhaps already beyond our aid
and here we were eating three meals a day, or at least
trying to, and sitting about in comparative comfort wait-
ing for events to- transpire. I had an impulse to do
something rash, anything, to change the monotony of
doing nothing. Think as I might, until my head ached
and my temper became as brittle as glass, I could con-
ceive of no way to help Joel.
At Dr. Brown’s suggestion we had established watches
at the large telescope for the constant observation of
the Second Earth’s discoloration. By the middle of the
week, our anxiety on that particular point was allayed by
the complete disappearance of the rust spot. We could
establish no cause for the phenomenal occurrence, but
with its going we thought no more of it for the time
being.
Though there was no task to occupy us other than the
radio and the telescope, I found that, as the week wore
on, I saw less and less of Dr. Brown and incidentally of
Ottokar. Dr. Brown, quite unlike me, exhibited an in-
creasing flow of good spirits, the old haunted look of
fear had vanished from his eyes, he seemed to grow
happier, to swell out with a joy that could not be con-
fined and for which I could make no accounting. One
day he seemed to become almost frivolous.
“Bob,” he asked, nudging me with the stump of his
arm, “have you had any more dreams about patching up
the Earth?”
I grunted a negative.
“Well, don’t lose faith in your dreams !” and he trotted
off, chuckling.
On another occasion, we met abruptly on the stone
staircase and under the impact we both went down.
“I was just hurrying down to see you,” he explained,
after catching his breath.
“So it would seem,” I retorted, sourly.
“No offense, no offense. Do me a kindness, will you?
What do you know about rocket propelled planes ? What
men were associated with the idea? Where can I find
their theories and their wotking equations?”
I smiled, somewhat belittlingly, I admit. The man
was thinking of a rocket ship to the Second Earth ! On
second thought, though, there might be something in the
idea. There were not so very many of us here, but what
we might be able to transport ourselves across space
to Joel.
“The latest ship built,” I recited from the vague mem-
ory of my newspaper reading, “was built amid the heat
and sage brush about Roswell, New Mexico, by a
Canadian-American aeronautic engineer whose name was
Fritz, I think. It had a take-off speed of ninety miles,
a landing speed of thirty miles and carried a useful or
pay load of some 400 pounds. It was a twenty-four
rocket tube affair and had a high ceiling, as figured from
the readings of the instruments on board, of over 110
miles, the highest any aircraft has ever penetrated into
space. The ship was found, almost unharmed, about
320 miles beyond the takeoff point and, the chronometer,
which had stopped apparently coincidentally with the
landing, indicated that the elapsed time was exactly
twenty minutes! That would make, roughly, a thou-
sand miles an hour! The pilot was never found. The
theory was that he must have fallen out en route.
“There were several other men before Fritz’s time
who spent the major portion of their lives tinkering
with rocket propulsion; one in Germany made both a
168
AMAZING STORIES
land vehicle and one for the air; he wisely put the first
on railroad tracks and used a cat as a passenger. His
patents, when on the eve of fruition, were bought out
by a big American motor concern and since then noth-
ing much has ever been heard about them Another, a
university man in New England, commenced by sending
up rockets for weather observation for many years.
Later he built a larger model to carry human beings but
a timid government stepped in on the grounds of need-
less danger to life and the cost which it entailed and
now the ships are mere show pieces in some Boston
museum. But these men had not gone as far as Fritz,
whose ship, by the way, was being brought east to be
housed here permanently about the time of the upheaval.
The complete monograph on his work is here in the
Memorial somewhere, for I saw it not so long ago.”
When he was gone, I spoke to Ottokar, who had ma-
terialized during the latter part of the conversation.
“Did Mr. Brown ever tell you how he lost his arm?”
“Why, yes. Dad: an iron girder fell across his body.
He’s got lots of backbone,” admiringly. “I like him a
great deal. He has something wrong in his chest. He
screws up his face in pain suddenly and tries to stop
breathing while the pain lasts ; but he never complains.”
I had noticed the same ■ symptoms myself but Toby
Brown, whom I had grown to like myself, had avoided
my questioning.
“You’re with him much lately, Ottokar,” I said.
“What are you doing ?”
“Dr. Brown is teaching me how to work out some
astronomical problems.”
“And what is Dr. Brown doing besides that?”
“I don’t know. Calculations mostly in which I help
him with the slide rule. I tack the papers down for him,
for he seems helpless just with one hand. When the
answers do not suit him he swears grandly in some
foreign language and then starts over again. Once I
asked him why he didn’t ask your help. He said he
wanted to be sure before he said anything — afraid you’d
laugh at him.”
“I suspect,” I returned, “that he’s wasting his time on
rocket space ships. Even if he could devise one theo-
retically capable of taking us out into space and up to
the Second Earth, how could we ever build it? Neither
he nor I know anything about the crafts.”
“That’s true. We’d have to have mechanics and
workmen of all kinds. . . . Dr. Brown is estimating
forces to move matter at velocities of a hundred thou-
sand miles an hour. Could the human body stand such
high speeds? Could I shoot through space, say, at five
thousand ?”
“I suppose so. You’re traveling almost that fast now !
Astronomers tell us the Earth used to revolve about the
sun with an orbital velocity of over 66,000 miles an
hour. You were a speck on the Earth and raced along
with it and it bothered you so little that you went on
living without even knowing of your mad flight. The
human body can stand any speed providing it is regular,
does not fluctuate too greatly.”
“What about airplane pilots who lose consciousness
during the air races?”
“I was going to tell you about that. Speed doesn’t
matter, but the rate of increase of the speed, the accelera-
tion, is what matters and very seriously. High speeds
must be reached by easy stages, giving the human body
a chance to adjust itself to the changes.”
I questioned Ottokar further but without gleaning
any definite inkling of Toby Brown’s objective. I
doubted whether Toby himself knew. Despite this, I
went about the consummation of my tasks, such as they
were, with a lighter heart and more buoyant step : some-
one was striving toward some end and not sitting by
helplessly as I w'as, and even though I was more than
dubious about both the end and the method of approach
to its solution, I felt keyed up in spirits. This secret
concentration meant there was something in the air, an
inspiration which signified new hope. Toby had stum-
bled upon an idea. It was unusual. He was afraid
that it might occasion ridicule. There must be a seed,
a promise behind it all! I actually began to whistle!
Toby’s Space Ship
W E were all still seated about the dinner table one
evening, all but Toby, who rarely joined us
because of the intimidating appearance of his
scarred face, when we were suddenly lifted from our
seats by hoped-for-sounds from the planetarium. Chairs
were knocked over, someone stepped on the cat’s tail, a
platter crashed to the floor and we stimibled into one
another’s way as we dashed for the staircase. As on
one other memorable occasion, however, I stopped the
rush and mounted the steps with Ottokar, being over-
taken by Tobey, who came from another part of the
building. The family came after us.
We bellowed some meaningless w'ords at each other,
waiting for no answer. Joel was still among the living!
The radio indicated that. At last Joel had heard our
signals !
I turned on the amplifiers to dispense with the ear-
phones. We all wanted to hear. Even the children.
They were grouped in a restless wave about twenty
feet away. The women were curbing their excitement.
The receiver was very much alive. Our ears were
assailed by unearthly, creepy sounds. Toby dialed fran-
tically to clear up the reception. The sounds became
discordant. Impatiently I took a hand at the dials.
Then, suddenly, a voice inundated that vast chamber.
Though awaiting it, we recoiled involuntarily.
“Hello, Bob !” it shouted.
It w'as a well-remembered, a well-loved voice. Old
Joel was talking to me! He was alive! I could not
mistake that voice. Oh, how happy I was! No doubt
of his well being ! We capered about the receiver. We
cheered, we acted in a manner that would have won us
ready admission to any asylum! Interplanetary com-
munication was an accomplished fact ! We were speak-
ing across space! I w'as glad that Joel should be a
joint party to an event of such stupendous import! We
had to save ourselves somehow now; w^e had to get
together, Joel and I, and the rest of humanity, to enjoy
this new power at our disposal.
We sobered down in time, thought less wildly. Toby
Brown stepped aside in deference to my long friendship
with Joel.
“Go ahead. Bob,” he urged. “Speak into the micro-
phone.”
I slipped into the seat he pushed forward for me and
sent out my greetings. In my wrought-up condition, I
plied my distant chum with question upon question with
almost machine-gun rapidity until realizing what I was
doing, I broke off and started again.
WORLDS ADRIFT
169
“Tell me about yourself, Joel,” I finished. “We’ve
waited a long time to hear,”
I mopped my forehead and loosened my shirt front.
Again came the eerie sounds, like the dying anguish of
lost souls. We dialed again and again, but succeeded
only in adding the terrific roar of static to the other
disturbances.
We continued our efforts through the entire night,
standing vigil over the obstreperous set but without re-
sult. One by one, tired and disappointed, we dropped
off for a snatch of sleep.
During the day the receiver was silent. The thrill of
the night’s experience had upset all routine ; the hour of
the first meal passed without notice; the children chat-
tered, the women were fretful and nervous while we,
Toby, Ottokar and I, talked quietly and conjectured
all sorts of reasons for the set’s failure. We decided
upon an overhaul, dissected our entire equipment,
checked each part and assembled the whole in readiness
for the evening.
“It was a prophetic glimpse of the future on Hilda’s
part, absolutely prophetic,” I affirmed later. “She vi-
sioned us talking to Joel !”
“Who are we,” Toby retorted, irrelevently, “to say
whether it is possible to foresee or not?” His eyes
twinkled. “Truths are sometimes decked out in strange
garments. The time may come, Bob, when even the flit-
ting fancies of one’s slumbers may have their own
peculiar meanings for you !”
His face suddenly twitched with pain, beads of per-
spiration appeared on his forehead, his hand hovered
over his chest.
“What is it, Toby?” I cried, dismissing a caustic
rejoinder that was on the tip of my tongue. Flecks of
red appeared at the corners of his lips as I spoke. “Toby,
you’re sick,” I cried again. “Blood! Where — ?”
He had pulled out his handkerchief which he now
held to his mouth. A pink stain discolored the linen.
“It will be over in a minute. Bob,” he said. “The
pain is gone now and — ^this other, that will stop, too.”
He sat down while I leaned over him but he waved
me aside and seemed to resume his bantering air, but I
could see that the effort fell short of its aim.
“A wall collapsed, pinning me under the debris dur-
ing the — the — ” He gulped and went on: “When I
came to, I had only one arm and a piece of steel lay
across my chest. Ever since then I’ve had an occasional
lung hemorrhage and at times pains like the jabbing of
a knife into one. Breathing is difficult then. It’ll pass
off in time. If it doesn’t—” and he shrugged his shoul-
ders negligently.
“Such talk won’t do!” I protested. “Not in our state,
Toby.”
“What does it matter?” he responded. “I wanted to
pass out awhile ago, anyway. It was only your kindness
that made it worth while lingering on.”
“Bosh and tommyrot!” I exclaimed. “Where would
we be if we all felt that way? You have been derelict
in the care of your condition.” I seized a scrap of
paper. “Here,” I commanded, “take this. It’s a ferrous
salt solution which you can easily find over in the old
medical center of town. No, Ottokar can get it for you
in the morning. The solution will tend to stop the flow
of the blood. You should be resting, flat on your back,
only your head up to prevent regurgitation. You have
been bending over your figures too much.”
“Ah, yes, Bob, that figuring. It’s time I said some-
thing. One never knows. It may be too late later.”
Exasperation incited me to a sharp remark, but again
it was dismissed with a wave of his hand.
“I’ve looked over this man’s equations. Bob,” he said.
“I mean Fritz’s. I’ve checked and rechecked every
statement and every answer and with a few exceptions,
I find that he was right. The few exceptions, which you
will see yourself when you compare our calculations,
were probably the causes of his disappearance. My
conclusion is that a rocket ship to pierce the cosmic
spaces, to travel a set course to a definite destination is
not only in the realm of possibility, but will become an
actual reality! In other words. Bob, I am seriously
planning to shoot ourselves and our possessions straight
up from the Earth and land us in the midst of our kin
and friends on the Second Earth.”
I approached him, sincerely afraid. I touched him on
the shoulder,
“Toby,” I pleaded, “don’t you think you had better
lie down ?”
He ignored my words.
“Bob,” he replied, “it may be our loss that you didn’t
find me before your Hilda passed on. She must have
had an idea; her will-power fought to the last, even
beyond death, to communicate it to you.”
“Then why didn’t she tell me outright sooner?”
“Apathy on your part. Bob. She was a reasoning
woman or she would never have been head of Temple
University. You had to be pushed, you were impassive,
indifferent I know because I was that way when you
found me.”
There was no rebuttal to be made. Toby Brown had
gauged the situation correctly. I had been frank enough
to admit to myself that Hilda had been the fountain-head
and the leader. Since Toby was now determined to talk, I
became equally determined to listen and to quiz him on
how he expected to bring about this space trip of his.
“Listen, Toby,” I said, “to get back to the subject:
yPu hope to build a rocket space ship in which to carry
us to Joel Murch, Am I right?”
“I expect to use what one might term a rocket space
ship for that purpose, yes.”
“How large will it be? What will be its passenger
capacity ?”
“It will carry us all and any others who may appear,
together with all our belongings!”
“In one trip?”
“Yes, it will carry millions if we should have that
many to carry !”
“But what about food ?”
“We’ll carry farms and cattle herds and so on with
us !”
“And air to breathe ?”
“We’ll take our atmosphere with us, too.”
I fell back a step. The man was insane! A space
ship to hold millions of passengers ! To carry growing
crops and grazing animals and an atmosphere! Out of
his mind, completely out of his mind! Poor Toby! I
dropped my cavilling attitude. One must not irritate
a man in Toby Brown’s state. Later I would give him
a sedative. In the meantime I would offer only such
minor objections to his idea that should soothe any sus-
picion and lend sincerity to my play acting.
“But, Toby,” I said in a different tone, leaning for-
ward, “how will you build this ship? Where will you
ITQ
AMAZING STORIES
get the — why, we have no laborers or skilled mechanics !
There are only you and I and Ottokar and we know
nothing, we're helpless as babes in the woods when it
comes to building something, especially from raw
material !”
“If it were necessary to build it, Bob, your statements
would be conclusive arguments against it; but my ship
does not need to be built! It is ready to hand, com-
plete, or almost so 1”
The conviction that his mind had gone astray grew
with every word he uttered. My eyes avoided his; I
did not want him to read in them how I felt, or what I
was thinking then.
“But, Toby, that’s too wonderful to be true,” I said.
“Of what is your ship made and where is it?”
Toby Brown searched my face for a long time, then
shrugged his shoulders.
“It’s within reach of your hand. Bob,” he finally an-
swered. “You can touch it if you wish without moving ;
and as to its composition, it’s made up of rock, earth,
water, air, clouds, anything, everything!” and with a
sigh he rose and made his way from the planetarium
and did not return to it for many hours.
His condition was appalling! Very quietly I went
about and told the members of my household the sad
tidings; I asked each and every member to exercise the
utmost care with the sick man, to be especially vigilant
about arousing him in any way. Having completed my
errand of mercy, as I thought, I had recourse to our
store of medicines, searching for a narcotic for use in
case of violence.
Here Ottokar, who had been absent during the whole
incident, burst in upon me like a veritable cyclone, bent
on fury.
“What is this I hear. Dad, about Dr. Brown being
insane?” he panted. “Is is true that you started the
story ?”
‘W^hy, 3 fes, my lad. His plight is most pitiable.”
“But,” excitedly, “Dr. Brown isn’t crazy! He is as
sane as you and I !”
I smiled, forgiving the boy’s rude entrance and his
apparent disbelief.
“You must be calm, Ottokar,” I warned. “You must
say or do nothing to upset Dr. Brown. He is suffer-
ing from hallucination. Accept everything he says as
gospel truth. He will tell you he has a rocket space
ship that will transport a whole city’s population through
interplanetary space, that it’s right here, right around
you, that you can touch it, that — ”
“But,” the boy cried, “it is Jiere, you can touch it.
You are sitting on it right now, and it will carry billions
of people if necessary ! It will do everything, he says it
will, when he’s finished with it. And he is bound to fin-
ish with his calculations soon.
I was aghast. What new turn of events was this?
Was Ottokar, too, gone insane ? I seized both his arms
and held him tightly.
“Now collect your thoughts,” I said, quietly. “You
say Dr. Brown has this space ship to — to carry — ?”
“Yes, Dad,” he interrupted, eagerly, “I’ve been work-
ing with him, checking his figures. It’s all right. Dad.
You look tired. Lie down a bit. Don’t w'orry. He feels
hurt because you think he’s out of his mind.”
My arms dropped to my sides. I looked at the boy
dully. Either he, too, was deranged or it was I who was
suffering the mental relapse !
More About the Space Ship
O ttokar left me to my thoughts. Thus I was
alone with the radio that evening. Neither he
nor Toby put in an appearance during the hours
that I talked with Joel, for talk I did. Our set seemed
rejuvenated; its performance was as perfect as could be
desired.
Joel was reticent. I was surprised and hurt by this
sudden lack of spontaneity. At times, though, he be-
came more loquacious, freer, in fits and starts and it
dawned upon me that he was laboring under peculiar
conditions which did not permit lengthy speech. I had
to be satisfied with the mere knowledge that he was as
well as could be expected after the intervening years.
He listened to me and questioned me but as to facts
about the life about him or what he was doing, there was
nothing said. I told him how we were situated, about
Hilda’s death and the coming of Toby Brown into our
midst, but nothing of the latter’s illness nor of his wild
fancies, I expressed a hope that some day we would get
into closer touch, but he demurred.
“We’re getting old now, Bob,” he said. “Don’t waste
your efforts on that. We can sit back and be content
with living it all over again in an arm chair, with our
eyes closed. Those were the halcyon days. Bob. I often
sit here, you old walrus, and think of you and your
stinking concoctions.”
We chatted further in this fashion, but as nothing
pertinent to this story was said, I am leaving out the
detailed report of our conversation, as this tale of mine
is now rapidly approaching the period of its writing.
It was exactly two months yesterday that Joel and I
talked in this way. Events will soon tread upon one
another’s heels in such rapidity that I very much fear
the tale will have to suffer or wait upon another oppor-
tunity — if such will ever be mine !
The conversation with Joel had plunged me into a wild
yearning to be with my friend. I was disconsolate. I
pictured the wonders we could bring about, he. Brown
and I; for now I included Brown in any future ven-
tures we might conceive. Inaction preyed upon me. It
was past the middle of the night but seeing a light still
burning in the little room that Toby had converted into
his sanctum sanctorum, I strode in, probably unan-
nounced, for both he and Ottokar were startled at my
sudden and distrait appearance. There were papers on
the window sill, papers on the table, the desk, the floor.
My feet rustled heedlessly through them. I had to talk
to someone and for the minute I forgot Toby’s madness.
“I’ve been in touch with Joel, “I announced and
rehearsed rapidly what my friend had said. “He seemed
downcast,” I ended. “Danger must still threaten him,
but he wouldn’t divulge its nature.”
“Did you ask him about the recent discoloration ?”
“No, Toby, like an old fool, I forgot; but tomorrow
night we’ll get or try to get answers to the questions
that have been bothering us.” I paused to pace the
length of the small room. “He’s been sending out mes-
sages for over nine years!” I burst out. “Can’t we do
something toward getting us together again ? I’d like to
have — why couldn’t we take Fritz’s space ship if we can
find it, make alterations and one of us hazard a journey
out to Joel?”
Toby Brown swept the table before him clear of
papers.
WORLDS ADRIFT
171
“Sit down here, Bob,” he ordered. “You think I’m
mad. Oh, yes, Ottokar has told me what you did and I
could perceive a change myself, even the children were
awed and unnatural. Let’s assume I am mad. What do
you say? Will you listen to my arguments? They’ll
take but a few minutes. Scientific details — we’ll forego
them till later.”
Sliding into the proffered seat, I closed my eyes
against the! light and waited.
“I admit, Bob,” he began, “that the remarks I made
about the proposed space ship were startling; but I did
want to surprise you and thus take your thoughts from
my lung trouble. Had I marshalled the facts first and
then made my deductions, I wouldn’t have seen that
other expression on your face. You might have dis-
agreed but you certainly wouldn’t have considered me no
longer master of my mind. . . .
“Briefly the conditions are these: — We’re astride a
large fragment of terrestrial matter whose mass is some
three thousand millions of millions of millions of tons,
that is, the figure three with twenty-one ciphers, or
3 X 10^^- After the catastrophe our piece, like its com-
panion half out there, lapsed into a new orbit about the
sun. We don’t know the new orbital velocity yet, though
I’ll have that figured out before morning; but we do
know that before the division of our globe it was 18.5
miles per second. We also know that the planets and
other astronomical bodies are held in their places by the
laws of gravity; they cannot alter their disposition in
the celestial sphere, except by the introduction of some
new external force or the collision of free bodies whose
orbits, being tremendous and parabolic probably have at
last crossed. The wrecking, thus, of two bodies might
disarrange the fine balance existing among the members
of the solar system.
“Let’s suppose this inkwell is the sun and this shoe
button our slice of the Earth and furthermore, let’s
assume the attraction that holds the button in its proper
relation to the inkwell is one pound of pull exactly.
Now I reach forward and give the button a push, let’s
say of two pounds. Will the button ever return to its
original orbit about the inkwell, especially if I continue
applying the two-pound force? You answer no and you
are right. Some would say that a body could never
leave its orbit without suffering destruction, but that is
only a theory and I don’t subscribe to its tenability.
“Now let’s talk about the sun and the terrestrial frag-
ment upon which we are. If I can exert a force greater
than the one which holds us in our place, it’s obvious
we’ll have pushed ourselves out of the regular orbit
into a new one.”
“Hold on a minute,” I interposed, opening my eyes.
“This all presupposes an external force, a force from
without the planet. Where are you going to hang your
hat temporarily while applying this force — Mercury,
Mars, or where?”
“I’m going to stay right here on terra firma,” returned
Toby. “Instead of using your pushing force idea. I’ll
use the recoil or rocket principle! In other words, our
piece of the Earth, all of it, with its inhabitants and its
mountains and valleys will become a rocket space ship !”
“A beautiful dream I” I retorted lightly.
“Wait,” he entreated. “When a novice fires a rifle,
what happens. There’s a sharp recoil. That is just the
sort of recoil I intend to use.”
“Delightful in theory,” I answered, “but what about
the magnified rifle with which we are to get this recoil ?”
Ottokar here turned to me jubilantly.
“The Metal Worms, Dad!” he answered for Toby.
“Didn’t you dig 200-foot diameter subways with them
at the rate of a mile or so a day?”
“Ah, yes ; but the Metal Worms, wherever they are in
the bowels of the Earth, cannot be tampered with,” I
returned, “not without the special heat suit and that was
lost when — ”
“That suit. Bob,” from Toby, “is safe in Grubsnig’s
laboratory! But the problem is not as simple as that.”
“No,” I agreed, smiling. “Discharging the Metal
Worms in the manner you plan would ignite the atmos-
phere, cause a spreading destruction of that vital con-
comitant of human life. The free disintegration of one
atom would set off others and so on indefinitely, spread-
ing not only to the atmosphere but to our whole Earth,
the distant planets, in fact, the entire solar family in
time just as gunpowder spreads in a flash. . . . And then
I don’t think the joint recoil of all six Metal Worms or
atomic machines would be sufficient.’
“You’re right again. Bob. These calculations,” indi-
cating the scattered sheets, “prove the insufficiency of
the recoil from the source you mention, but then — well,
I anticipate other sources for my rocket power in addi-
tion to Dr. March’s atomic machines. As to the univer-
sal destruction likely to result, that is the question with
which I am fretting now. However, let’s suppose we
have written Q.E.D. to these problems. What next?”
“What is the object in jolting our Earthly fragment
from its orbit ?” I asked.
Toby found another button, placed it on the table and
flipped the first one against it.
“To bring the two halves of the Earth together !” he
said. “Thus !”
“Assuming our fragment shoots off at the proper tan-
gent! How will you guide it?”
“I won’t,” he answered, smiling. “I’ll shoot my
atomic charges off from the side of our Earth which is
away from Joel’s piece and since the action will be so
rapid under the tremendous, incalculable force of the
bursting atoms — ^why, we’ll go straight as an arrow to
our destination!”
“Fine,” I laughed, “and who will be left to collect
the pieces? And what will prevent you from plastering
us across the face of Venus or Mars or even, if your
aim is wrong or not timed right, from pushing us rudely
into the sun ?”
“Well put. Bob,” Toby was evidently enjoying him-
self. “As to crashing into the Second Earth and de-
stroying it and ourselves' as well, we can erect atomic
machines on the side facing the Second Earth, right here,
let’s say, and use their recoil as a braking force just as
Fritz and the others employed the same methods in
effecting safe landings. As to that other peril of making
a ninety-two million-mile plunge into the sun. I have left
one more expedient, although, in such an event, I’m
afraid it would save the Earth without saving us. Do
you remember the word ‘syzygy’?” and he chuckled.
“We can time our start when we’re in syzygy, when the
Sun, Moon, the Second Earth and we are in a straight
line. Should our recoil be so great as to carry us against
the Second Earth and beyond, despite our braking action,
then we can glide on until we strike the Moon. That
luminary will surely stop us from riding into the sun,
though there won’t be anyone living by then to care?”
172
AMAZING STORIES
"Why, Toby,” I said, “that’s using Hilda’s idea!”
“Of course,” Toby agreed. The happy light was in
his weary eyes again. He perceived that this time my
interest was genuine.
“I still don’t see,” I added, lamely, “where and how
you’ll get the terrific power needed.”
“Have you been over to your old laboratory since the
Separation ?” he asked, irrelevently.
“Come to think of it, no,” I answered, surprised.
“How about going over in the morning and also to
Grubsnig’s place? We can work with definite facts
then.”
“At dawn tomorrow,” I assented and was turning
away, rejoicing to myself that here at last we were to
have action when one final question occurred to me.
“If," I said, “those atomic machines produce the recoil
you expect, Toby, the shock will be terrific. Will this
old hunk of terrestrial matter stand it?”
“Didn’t Fritz’s space car survive the combined recoil
of twenty-four tubes ? Of course, some disturbance will
result, especially if too great a recoil is used at first.”
We separated for what was left of the night, looking
forward to the morrow with more impatience than I had
for many a year.
Taking Stock
T hat was two months ago yesterday when we
parted with such high intentions, but those months
have seemed truly but weeks. Work is a grand
panacea for the human mind, when it suffers from
monotony and unquenched desires. Toby Brown sup-
plied the work and here I am today — but I must go on
with the tale.
The following morning, just as the jet black veil of
the night had descended upon the world of the Precipice
and a pale smoky sun had impaled ours with its weak
rays, Toby Brown and I took our seats in the Jay Bird
while most of my household gathered about in a circle
around the ship.
“Isn’t there anything, Toby,” I questioned, still ob-
sessed by the desire for action,” which Ottokar and the
other boys could do in our absence ?”
Toby started a negative reply, then broke off and
considered.
“It should have been done before, anyway,” he rumi-
nated almost to himself. “Why, yes. Bob,” he con-
tinued, “Ottokar and the boys could assemble all the
available trucks in the vicinity which are still in work-
ing order. “They could be parked out along the Park-
way, near the old Art Museum. The paving seems to be
fairly intact out that way. They can fill the tanks with
gas, put water and oil in and — well, get them in shape
for running. ... By the way, do any of the women know
how to drive ?”
“Yes, Vera does and I think — ^yes, there are three or
four others do.”
“We must forget regular routine. Bob,” Toby ex-
plained with a new and dynamic voice. “You’re awake
at last ! Every act we do, every thought we think, every
move we make, all must tend toward the one end — •
success for our plan. Tell them to forego houseclean-
ing, cooking and such tasks. Have them take the girls
and give them instructions in driving the trucks. We
will not be back until late, maybe not till tomorrow and
then we may wish to mobilize our forces.”
When I had imparted these orders to Vera, we took
off in a northerly direction toward Willow Grove.
Though there was wreckage strewing the ground every-
where, it was surprising how very little the landscape
had altered from the day that Joel and I had flown over
it daily tO see the latest destruction caused by the unfet-
tered atomic machine. It was comparatively easy to find
our old laboratory. We landed, and as soon as my feet
touched the ground, memories of the past swept over me
with a poignant insistence; but Toby, guessing, did not
let me succumb to their sway. Together we made a
hasty inspection, first of the grounds, then of the
laboratory itself. The contents of the huge building
were intact, even to such little things as the coffee per-
colator on the electric range and the dirty coffee cups
on the table where we had left them, Joel and I, on that
last momentous day to keep our appointment downtown
with civilization’s arch enemy. The cot on which we
took shifts at sleeping while working on the disintegra-
tion of the atom was there, unmade still, for during that
last day we had occupied our butler’s time with other
more important tasks than keeping our house in order.
The heat furnace was there with the wiring in place,
ready to be used. A reference book was on the lab table,
its pages still held open by a Braun tube. Dust had col-
lected. A thick layer of ash from the conflagrations that
had swept the Earth, had seeped in and mantled the
surfaces and cobwebs adorned nook and corner.
Toby lingered before my desk. “All this,” he re-
sumed, without looking at me, “reminds you of tumultu-
ous days, I suppose. Bob. . . . Well, we’ll slip out and
see Grubsnig’s headquarters. ... By the way, do you
remember the day Dr. Murch’s atomic machine, or
Metal Worm, was set loose ? Do you remember how you
were mystified on waking the next morning (you had
fallen asleep at your desk here after answering telephone
calls all night) and finding a message from the mad
Russian in your hands? The doors and windows had
been locked and Dr. Murch’s private guards had paraded
the grounds around the building most vigilantly and still
in some queer way Grubsnig’s card had found its way in
to you! Ah, I see you do remember! Who wouldn’t?
I was the unwilling emissary for the Russian who ef-
fected his entrance here at night, . . . Wait. It was
simple. Grubsnig feared Dr. Murch more than any
other person. He knew that Dr. Murch was and had
been for years concerned with the disintegration of the
atom ; he also knew in his devious way that Dr. Murch
had very well formed ideas as to the method of pro-
cedure Add to this the fact that Grubsnig was being
hunted by the minions of nearly every great nation in
the world, what hiding place could promise more secur-
ity and freedom from suspicion and equal freedom for
advancing his personal aims and at the same time permit-
ting an easy espionage of both your researches than some
estate closely adjacent to this one? As soon as he knew
definitely that the two of you were going to erect a
laboratory here in Willow Grove, he not only purchased
the large property adjoining this one on the north side
but introduced his own workmen among the regular
mechanics who were to put up your building. These
men made such alterations during several night shifts
that Grubsnig was enabled to come and go at will. You
were both under constant surveillance except on several
occasions when the activity of the police made it impru-
dent for Grubsnig to return to his own laboratory.
WORLDS ADRIFT
173
This,” and Toby touched a cleverly concealed spring,
“marks the beginning of a secret passage that leads down
under the basement, from which point a tunnel connects
with the outside.”
Wild ideas raced through my mind at this recital. I
dismissed and later forgot them because Toby had
opened a sliding panel in the wall behind my desk and
was beckoning me to follow him. Just as he had said,
the tunnel brought us out into the grounds remote from
the building and the worn beat of the guards. From
here it was but a matter of minutes and we were wend-
ing our way to a squat, sandstone building which housed
Grubsnig’s own laboratory.
The workshop, as miraculously intact as our own, was
domiciled mostly in a vast, artificially lighted cellar
extending far beyond the line of the foundation walls.
Under Toby’s guidance we quickly ran through most
of the rooms, for there were many. When but two
remained, Toby’s steps began to lag. One room had
been Grubsnig’s private retreat and even after these
years, it looked much as if the occupant had just stepped
out for a brief errand. Books, papers and the other
indications of the room being in use still lay naturally
scattered about. Only the thick layer of yellow dust
belied these first impressions. Toby hesitated, then
passed the door leading into the room without taking
me in.
“We might scatter the papers if we mess around in
there,” he explained. “I want a chance to go over
Grubsnig’s notes alone some time. He was engaged with
one problem in particular which may throw some light
on our difficulties.
“Now this next is the factory. Bob,” he went on. “It
was here that Grubsnig assembled his engines of de-
struction, for such they were to be. He was working on
a vast scale. His diseased mind was urging him on to
become the Mastermind of the Earth, the omnipotent
ruler of the whole human race and he planned on a
proportionate scale.”
We crossed the long machine shop noiselessly over a
floor of heavy rubber tiling and paused at the further
end before row upon row of enormous metal cubes.
From their short tubular projections and their general
resemblance to ours, I guessed them to be atomic
machines. They were not on tractors, as were ours, but
rested directly on the floor.
“Each one of these,” Toby explained, “is an engine
for producing power from the atom’s destruction. As
you observe, the machines are composites of Dr. Murch’s
ideas and Grubsnig’s. There are 200 of these, at least,
complete and ready for use, each more powerful than
your Metal Worms. With these Grubsnigs hoped to
conquer the peoples of the Earth — and who knows? —
perhaps even the inhabitants of neighboring planets ! At
the very climax of his program he was effectively
stopped by one detail: he could not put into operation
any of these machines, because he lacked a protective
garment such as Dr. Murch invented in his so-called heat
suit. Grubsnig’s men were attacking the matter when he
discovered that Dr. Murch had already accomplished
this same end. Grubsnig, as you remember, stole this
suit very promptly and planned to duplicate it in suffi-
cient numbers to supply the operators of his atomic
machines. In the meantime, though Grubsnig had erred
fatally in releasing your Metal Worm on a wild ram-
page around the Earth. There was no time left after
that for anything, and so, Bob, in that closet to your
right, is Dr. Murch’s heat suit ready to be donned just
as Grubsnig left it there.”
Shortly afterward I sensed that Toby wished to be
alone. I had by now learned to navigate the Jay Bird
and consequently when I suggested returning to the
Memorial alone, Toby’s face lighted with pleasure.
“I was afraid to hint that,” he admitted. “I want to
hatch out some scheme for confining the action of the
breaking atoms without losing any of the recoil. Send
Ottokar back later, will you ?”
I returned to the Memorial at once, leaving him por-
ing over the papers in Grubsnig’s private study.
Orders From Space
I N three days my boys had salvaged a great host of
commercial trucks, hundreds of them, and placed
them in orderly ranks along the Parkway. Upon
my return I had joined them in this, releasing Ottokar
and the Jay Bird for trips between the Memorial and
Willow Grove. Toby Brown had immured himself in
the Russian’s laboratory and nothing would budge him.
The work of preparation at the Memorial went on
apace. Glistening new trucks were trundling by inter-
mittently all day, coming in from the city’s Automobile
Row on North Broad Street with the youngsters at the
wheel thoroughly enjoying themselves and thrilling at
the thought that they could go forth and help themselves
to the best with no one to say them nay. Other trucks
passed and repassed under the watchful eyes of the
women who directed the embryo drivers in their first
practise trips. Boys were struggling with spare tires,
of which I had ordered two for each vehicle and others
foraged for tools and spare parts to fit the various makes
of trucks. Some were washing the trucks, some polish-
ing, both needless tasks, and lastly, Ottokar, with the
genius of youth in avoiding needless effort, returned
one afternoon with several gasoline tank trucks, laden
with fuel. We secured nlore of these later to make us
independent of local supply on any journey we might
make, for I presumed Toby’s plan included a trek to
some remote spot where the terrain might be better
adapted for the operation of the atomic machines. If
the recoil was to be set off on the opposite side, the jour-
ney w’ould assume the proportions of an undertaking
beset with many difficulties. Thus details which Toby
had omitted were considered and attended to. Ottokar
and the boys secured ample stores of imperishable food
in large vans; barrels and casks were accumulated for
drinking water, for we had learned years ago that water
existed in smaller quantities now, due to the disappear-
ance of streams and lakes into the inner recesses of our
Earth.
But these are all distressing details to me now; they
do not grip me or absorb me any longer. How can they ?
They seem so unrelated, so small, so distant in the light
of what confronts me now. As I write these words with
a wildly hurrying pen, my eyes stray irresistibly away
from my sheets to the great crater Tycho and its remark-
able ray system which I can see clearly now with my
naked eyes. To the north and east Gassendi bids for my
attention. I can make out the strangest details in the
wide maw of Theophilus and then the little pockmarks
about Copernicus seem as if some playful giant had
thrown some colossal pebbles into the one-time soft mud
174
AMAZING STORIES
of the lunar surface. Odd how even the imminence of
death wanes with the peace and the grandeur of Mare
Serenitatis drawing one down to it. Odd, too, how the
Moon has always had this magnetic quality. It’s Moon-
madness, perhaps.
But there I go!
One night, after I had conceived of all possible needs
for our impending expedition, including a jib crane with
the necessary tackle and windlasses and also a steam
shovel which I thought might be a convenient utility in
mending the roads over which we traveled, I decided the
time was opportune for revealing our plans to Joel, who
was so far ignorant of them.
As usual, our sets were performing well. After a few
general remarks, I told him of the concentration of vehi-
cles about the Memorial. He was nonplussed.
“What can you possibly want with them. Bob?” he
asked.
Disregarding his question, I recited the other steps we
had taken and ended by a description of our visit to the
laboratories. About our own he was extremely anxious
to hear all possible details. When I mentioned the cof-
fee percolator and the dirty cups and the unmade-up
cots, his voice faltered with longing: I could not talk
too lengthily to suit him.
“And Eddington’s book was still open to the right
page!” he marvelled. “I was reading his theories, but.
Bob, I don’t agree with them any more. It’s just a
fluke of chance that we succeeded with the breaking up
of the atom. I have a new explanation I’ll tell you
about sometime.”
The enumeration of what we saw in Grubsnig’s work-
shop did not surprise him. The location of the labora-
tory adjoining ours, the presence of the atomic machines,
the recovery of the heat suit, not one item elicited other
than a casual, almost mild interest.
“That Russian, Bob,” he stated, “was a genius, abso-
lutely with no peer! It is unfortunate that his efforts
were directed into the wrong channels, unfortunate that
his mind was diseased. He might have advanced human
knowledge considerably. I knew it was nip and tuck
between him and me with the life blood of civilization in
the balance. I’m sorry he is no more; an operation,
cranial, might have brought about a miraculous meta-
morphosis in his mental outlook. More than two hun-
dred machines, eh? All more powerful than ours! I
suppose you have started their destruction already? It
will be no mean task but the sooner it is done, the bet-
ter!”
“Joel, we’re not going to destroy those machines,” I
rejoined, quietly. “We’re going to mount them and
use them!”
“You don’t mean that,” he replied. “Have you for-
gotten so soon the lesson we learned?”
“Nevertheless,” I insisted, “we ai'e going to use
them.”
“You will regret it. Bob,” he warned.
“The stakes we are playing for are big,” I answered
and then delved into the story of Toby’s project. Joel
would have none of it, would not listen at first and then
interposed the same sort of rebuttals that I had em-
ployed against Toby. He pictured dire results, thought
the whole plan was a fantastic impossibility.
“When do you expect to perpetrate this fool act of
yours?” he asked, finally and I had a suspicion he was
hanging on my words with more than usual interest.
“When the Sun, Moon and the Earths are in con-
junction, have the same right ascension,” I replied.
“With the Moon between the two Earths or between
the Sun and the two Earths?”
“What do you mean?”
“When you take off — is that the right term. Bob?”
and he laughed, grimly, “will the arrangement be the
Sun, Moon, and the two Earths or the Sun, our Earth,
the Moon and your Earth?”
“The first, of course.”
“You are intractable,” he pronounced and then re-
newed his flood of arguments, disputing my reasoning
step by step. After a bit, realizing I was obstinately
determined upon my course, he suddenly changed his
attitude, at first accusing me of not taking into con-
sideration the lives of the billions on his section of the
Earth and then, with another change of front, seeing
that I regarded this last argument as specious and
plausible only on the surface and totally without sin-
cerity on his part, he abandoned his objections.
“Bob,” he said, “I still consider you in my employ
and your pay still goes on.”
“That’s ridiculous,” not guessing his trend.
“A few hundred thousand miles between us doesn’t
alter the situation,” he retorted. “That being the case.
Bob,” he persisted, “your proposed move meets seriously
with my disapproval. Stop being obstinate and come
to your senses.”
I heard a step behind me. It was Toby Brown, just
returned from the laboratory. I looked at him signi-
ficantly and he shook his head negatively.
“When it’s all over, Joel,” I spoke into the micro-
phone, “you’ll be the first one to thank me.”
I heard him swear, a rare occurrence with him.
“Now, listen here, Bob,” he almost shouted back, “I
absolutely forbid you to proceed with the project and
I expect you to do all you can to prevent this Brown
from doing the same!”
“What’s that?” I cried, amazed.
“You heard me the first time,” he flashed back and
I could hear his breathing. “I command you to stop!”
This was something' new. “How do you get that
way, Joel?” I said, unevenly, lapsing into slang.
“For God’s sake. Bob ” and his voice ended. I
heard a commotion out there on the Second Earth and
then the set went dead!
“What can it be, Toby?” I asked, helplessly.
“He’s in trouble. He doesn’t want to endanger you.”
Brown joined me at the instrument and tried to wrest a
spark of life from the receiver but in vain, for the power
had been turned off at the other end. Ottokar volun-
teered to stay on watch in case anything came through,
while Toby and I drew aside to discuss this latest de-
velopment.
The New Danger
A S I look back over my life, especially since I be-
came intimately associated with Joel, the reali-
zation breaks upon me that I can never be a
hero, that I am not made of the stuff of which protag-
onists are put together. As a demigod I register in the
minus scale. There must always be a leader for me,
someone who will issue the ultimate decree, the last
word that is to guide me on the proper course. Had
Joel been nearer, his wishes would have swung me into
WORLDS ADRIFT
175
line, but he was out in the celestial voids and Toby
Brown was close at hand. Besides the quiescent, pas-
sive, dormant life that lay in the offing for me, if I fol-
lowed Joel’s dictates, was hardly tolerable. Toby, one-
armed, scarred, almost unprepossessing and ill into the
bargain, was still capable!
It strikes me that that is a decision which I should
not have made I Heroes do not make mistakes. I did.
I turned my back upon a life that was serene after a
fashion, though isolated from the rest of my race, to
one of suspense, anxiety, my days, my very hours num-
bered. As I write these words I am making a silent
wager with myself that my grave will be in some one
of the “fossilized” craters I can count in such numbers
at the Moon’s south; pole . . . !
An inspection of what had been accomplished in his
absence elicited words of warm approval from my com-
panion.
“Tomorrow we’ll take some trucks to Grubsnlg’s
place and begin loading the atomic machines. With
motor the trip will be nearly thirty miles one way be-
cause the highways so near the Precipice here are in
bad shape. I’ve plotted out the detours to follow — did
it in the Jay Bird this afternoon.”
“How will we manage all these trucks when it comes
time to move?” I asked. “We haven’t enough drivers.
Some of the children are too young.”
“We can tow the trucks, using the Metal Worms. I
located three of the latter during the past week: I sup-
pose the others are lost forever but if they are never
found, it won’t matter. Actually we have 260 of
Grubsnig’s machines. Each of these explodes six atoms
at a time as against only one in your Metal Worms.
Contrast the power developed! One Worm sliced the
Earth in half. Of course it was aided by the blasting
effects of vast stores of natural gases which were re-
leased from the bowels of the Earth and exploded, but
even discounting this, we have a tremendous force at
our command. These new machines are more than
six times as powerful. I gave up the effort to calcu-
late exactly what they would produce, because by the
very nature of the problem my calculations had to be
more or less empirical. . .
“We’ll leave a sufficient number of Grubsnig’s ma-
chines here to break our fall upon the surface of the
Second Earth; the remainder we’ll transport further
north. The machines will be arranged side by side and
discharged by wireless in pairs, at intervals of several
seconds. At the first discharge, two will go off, at the
next, four, then six and so on until by observation
through the telescope and wi^h our measuring instru-
ments it is shown that we have imparted a jolt adequate
to form a new orbit by which our Earth will drift gradu-
ally to its destination.”
“How gradual will that drift be?” I asked.
“The entire journey shouldn’t require more than three
or four hours. We’ll travel close to a hundred thou-
sand an hour, although toward the end that velocity will
be considerably reduced, naturally. At the proper mo-
ment, the machines on this side will be discharged in
about the same sort of order, but, I think, with fewer
and fewer machines at the very end although that, too,
is something I have to work out yet. Even with all the
precautions we can take, we’ll land with quite a goodish
shock.”
“And will we not crush millions of the inhabitants
and wreck the cities and inflict other fearful damages?”
“If our computations are not misleading, the two
Earths will come together in such fashion that the
wounded parts will meet, thus making whole the ter-
restrial globe as far as it is now possible to do that. It’s
unlikely that Joel and the others ventured to investigate
the flat disc side of their Earth any more than we did
ours. Consequently no one will be caught between the
halves, but there’s every chance that the armies of
clumsy, ugly brutes which the catastrophe released will
be buried again. That will be a deliverance.”
I shook my head dubiously. “I’ve made some esti-
mates of my own,” I admitted, “and my apprehensions
have been redoubled. Many of our cities on both frag-
ments will be demolished, if not directly then by the
jar of the impact.”
“What if that is so. Bob ?” he returned. “That would
be a mere bagatelle compared to the gradual loss of our
water, atmosphere and as a subsequent result, the ex-
tinction of all plant and animal life. Imagine, too, the
crowded conditions where Joel is — oh, don’t chafe and
stew, we are doing the right thing!”
Then he revealed what his close application with the
slide rule and his array of equations had achieved: as
electricty is not my domain I can give no other than
an impression of his method for restraining the action
of the atomic disintegration from spreading like wild-
fire over the whole universe. A vast electrical energy
screen, conical in shape, with the apex of the cone about
ten thousand miles out in space, was to be thrown about
each group of atomic machines, the power to be drawn
from the Metal Worms through the heavy cables still
left from the excavation of the vast underground cities
mentioned in my previous account. This screen was
to confine the atomic action without in any way reduc-
ing the recoil. I ran through his figures and on the
surface of it, the theory seemed practical.
While we were discussing these matters, Toby had
been getting out some photographic plates. Ever since
my household had eased into a final routine I had made
it a sacred duty to photograph the Second Earth at
constant intervals. With Toby’s arrival in our midst,
this had been continued. Toby, more of an astronomer
than I, had taken this over as a normal task in which
he found much delight. Tonight I assisted him and
when the plates had been exposed, we set about printing
them at once, suspecting we might find some trace of the
discoloration which had disturbed us before. The prints,
however, showed not a vestige of the rust color, but in
comparing this latest plate with the first few, that I had
taken years before, we made a startling discovery.
“Toby,” I cried, seeing it first, “look here! No, here,
the northwest rim of the disc. Now look at this plate,
same spot. See the difference? The contour has
changed very pronouncedly — sort of crumbled — like
crisp pie crust!” I became more excited as I glanced
rapidly at the other prints while Toby was studying the
two. “That’s not the only spot,” I blurted. “Here and
here — ^why the entire rim is undergoing a modification !
And look at the center of the plateau: it seems to be
humping out, piling up. What is it?”
Toby scrutinized the consecutive photographs withouti
a word. Apparently he did not hear my further ejacu-
lations. A pallor spread over his wounded face and
suddenly his old pain gripped him. His handkerchief
was suffused with blood; he coughed it up in quantity.
176
AMAZING STORIES
The prints and negatives were forgotten. I placed him
on the flat of his back and rendered such aid as I could.
The spell was more prolonged than before. When he
had come through it, I would not permit him to talk.
Very obediently but with a perturbed look on his face,
he sought his couch where he tossed about considerably
before drifting off to sleep.
That night Joel’s set was silent as it had been every
night after that last talk. Finding that my time was
wasted here, I, too, sought my bed, planning how I
would move the atomic machines on the morrow.
When I awoke in the morning, a little later than
usual, it was to find that Toby had fueled the Jay Bird
with extra supplies and taken off to the west at dawn.
“Leaving for an exploration of the edges of our
plateau,” he wrote in a note pinned to his pillow. “Will
be gone several days. Will keep in touch with you by
radio. Let Ottokar wire the atomic machines after
you get them to the Memorial. He knows how. Simple!
Leave machines in trucks.”
There was plainly a connection between his im-
promptu trip and what the photographic plates revealed.
I had small chance, though, in dwelling upon his latest
development. After a meagre breakfast, sixty of us
set out in trucks for Gru!)snig’s laboratory. The work
of loading the machines proved far easier than we had
expected. With the aid of the jib crane and the fact
that our gravity was much less than it had been, we man-
aged to hoist the first sixty into our trucks by dusk and
returned in the evening with our headlights casting a
glare over the vibrant animal world through which our
long procession straggled over many detours and with
much honking of horns. The spirit of achievement
made us light of heart even though we were tired and
dirty.
The next day it rained heavily in the morning, filling
the breaks in the roadways with pools of mud and water.
On the way back, one of the trucks skidded down a
steep embankment, causing a delay while it was hauled
up again. Charlie, a younger son, escaped with minor
scratches, but the truck was so badly damaged that we
transferred the atomic machine to another. Although
we had loaded the second day’s freight in shorter order,
the mishap had consumed the time saved and more and
we reached the Memorial at a belated hour.
Toby was calling when I stumbled into the building.
He must have pushed the Jay Bird at a respectable
speed. He reported briefly passing Peking and still
following the edge of the Precipice. He had witnessed
two earthquakes, battled through a devastating storm
and found long extinct volcanoes belching smoke and
ashes.
Not a word about the real purpose of the trip at a
time when we needed his help, not a hint of what was
happening along the Precipice ! That was a sign some-
thing was wrong!
I pushed the moving of the remainder of the atomic
machines, but a number of unexpected accidents pro-
longed the task for many days. At one point, when
the work was going along smoothly a wooden bridge
which our party was crossing collapsed like the elder
Oliver Wendell Holmes’ “one boss shay.” It had been
weakened by the inroads of the cloud’s of new arrivals
in the insect world which swarmed all about us and
frequently made our trips exceedingly painful. These
.insects attacked woodwork wherever it was exposed to
their depredations. Instead of endeavoring to rebuild
the bridge, we cut the slope of the banks down with the
steam shovel and crossed over the dry stream bed.
There were other delays, breakdowns, flat tires and
even collisions of a milder sort as the children vied to
be first loaded with the atomic machines.
Returning to the Memorial, I encountered new
trouble. Vera had been stung by an insect the day be-
fore. This had developed into an infectious illness
which soon spread to two of the other women and sev-
eral of the children. Time had no meaning for me after
that. Just as I was wishing for Toby’s return, his
motors roared overhead and he alighted with the Jay
Bird, much changed for the worse. His haggardness,
his emaciation forced a cry of alarm from my lips.
“Not you, too, Toby?” I exclaimed, thinking of my
sick list. “You’re as pale as a ghost! And when did
you eat last?”
“Forget me. Bob,” he importuned. “Just a spell of
— well, we’ve other troubles to fill our time than ”
“Yes,” I said, “we have our troubles. Vera and some
others are ill and ” but I broke off and led him to
the door of the infirmary which I had established. The
children’s chatter had ceased, a sick room quiet had
settled over the entire Memorial.
“This makes matters even blacker, Bob,” he said,
hours later when we had a chance to talk again. “I’ll
leave Ottokar with you. If you can take care here,
I’ll go along with some of the boys and bring in the
Metal Worms. There is more need for haste now than
ever before.”
“What’s wrong? You haven’t told me the facts yet.”
“Aren’t your hands full enough already? It’s hu-
manly impossible for you to do more. Additional
worry will hardly help. . . . It’s this, Bob: if we do
not get our atomic machines up into the arctic regions
and launch our bit of the Earth on its way soon, we
may have nothing to launch later 1”
He led me out of earshot of the others,
“There isn’t any doubt that the rim of the Second
Earth is crumbling. It’s a natural evolution. Our
universe doesn’t tolerate a half apple-shaped body.
Natural forces tend to reduce all bodies to spheres
which later become flattened at the poles. Oblate spher-
oids, you know. This change is now going on out
there. The material in the outer rim is being gradually
drawn down to the center of the vast plateau where
the pull of gravity is building up the flattened side. Of
course that can’t go on without danger to life.”
“Your trip, then, Toby,” I inferred, “has shown that
we can expect the same here?”
“Expect, Bob? Expect?” He paced the floor
violently, pounding his chest in exasperation. “Man,
it’s a wonder we are still here ! It’s going on all around
us. Didn’t you notice that fissure in the ground about
a mile to the northeast of here? . . . And I wanted to
atone! I wanted to do something useful! I won’t
have the chance ! I’m too late.”
“Too late?” I exclaimed, catching some of his un-
rest. “Why, that fissure’s been there for several
weeks !”
“It has?” At first he seemed to doubt my word,
then he became immeasurably relieved. “Perhaps we’ll
still have time, then. ... In China I saw an avalanche
in which a whole city went completely over the side!
I can’t describe it! The same will happen here, cer-
WORLDS ADRIFT
177
tainly. The Memorial, our radio, everything will go in
one monstrous landslide!”
“But what shall we do?” I asked. “Go further
north? Migrate elsewhere? I’m not anxious to leave
all our scientific equipment behind Toby.”
“We can’t escape that way,” he shot back, still pac-
ing the floor. “Upheavals, earthquakes, volcanoes,
about every form of destruction known to us in past ex-
perience are rending and tearing at our fragment. I
was lost for hours in just one cloud of volcanic smoke
and ashes over the Japanese Empire. We’ll be torn
apart! Scattered into space! Drifting forever as
molecules in the illimitable expanse of outer space!”
“But still I don’t see what we can do about it,” I
insisted.
“Do? We’ve got to go ahead with our plans — and
faster! Place the atomic machines on the other side
and take off!”
“But we won’t be in syzygy for about three months as
I figured it last night,” I protested.
“Three months?” Toby paused before me, trying
to control his emotions. “You don’t seem to under-
stand that in three months you and I and the others
may have nothing left to stand on. We’ll be mangled,
frozen, dead on some pellet of rock, embalmed for
eternity, minute flotsam and jetsam shooting through
the interplanetary wastes! . . . Oh, we can’t wait!
Anything is better than waiting! . . .”
“Another thing, Toby,” I argued. “To make us
land on the Second Earth, we must mount our recoil
guns or atomic machines at the North Pole to be ex-
actly opposite the plateau, otherwise we’ll miss our
mark and shoot off at a tangent.”
“And your objection is that we can’t drag our heavy
outfit over the polar seas and ice fields?”
“Yes.”
“We won’t try. When we’ve gone as far north as
we can, we’ll stop, set our equipment up, make new
calculations and then correct our aim.” He put his
hand on my shoulder, repressing his impatience. “Are
you with me. Bob ?”
“To the limit!” I answered and a wail of pain drew
me back to the infirmary.
Adrift
T WO weeks — or was it three? — ^w'ent by. Each
tick of the clock seemed to make the doom of our
project more certain. I could do nothing to help.
Toby worked alone. Sometimes Ottokar found an op-
portunity but rarely. I needed him.
The illness continued. We were handicapped. The
malignant disease defied our efforts. It did not yield
to any treatment. Despite frantic precautions and fre-
quent fumigations, others in the household contracted
it. We were helpless in such a situation! A large
medical library to which we had recourse did not help
matters. Instead of crystallizing any idea we might
have had, it befogged all our diagnosis with its myriads
of symptoms and reactions. Of what value all the
printed medical knowledge? None to us in our present
predicament! With the unabated spread of this newest
affliction, I wondered if Toby’s scheme was to be
jeopardized by the lack of numbers.
“A conspiracy of fate,” Toby opined, wanly. “It
takes the heart out of one.”
“Don’t give up,” I returned without spirit. “No life
has been snuffed out yet. There is still a chance.”
“No, I won’t give up,” with the latent fire in his eyes
smouldering into view for a moment, “no.” Then;
“The atomic machines are all here now. I’ll have to take
Ottokar for the entire day tomorrow. One of the
Metal Worms must be dug and I can’t operate the
steam shovel with one hand.”
Ottokar went with him.
Daily I stole time to make a pilgrimage to the fissure
we had discovered. My heart was not in the errand.
I made careful measurements of its width, its depth and
such variations as I could detect. Nearest the Mem-
orial, the crevice had altered little ; but further along on
the Roosevelt Boulevard and through the towns be-
yond, it had opened wider across the dry ground and
a thousand tiny thread-like cracks had branched out
from the main stem. I said nothing of this to Toby.
There came a day when the ground trembled, the
glass in the windows and the museum exhibition cases
fell from their frames. Insects poured into the building.
More needless work! There was a low, heavy, rolling
sound, continuous, terrifying. Was it the beginning of
the end? The air was filled with dust. We waited,
afraid to move, afraid to give voice to our thoughts.
Blessed silence engulfed us at last. There were signs
of relief. It was not yet our time!
Leaving Ottokar temporarily in charge of the pa-
tients, Toby and I took the Jay Bird aloft through the
gloomy, murky, dust-laden afternoon toward the north-
east where cumulus mountains of smoke mingled with
the dust. A fear gripped me. The controls felt cold
to my touch. We soared high, then plunged down into
a bottomless pit with all the lights on, trying to cleave
the pall of shadow.
My fears were realized. The Boulevard was gone
and with it Tacony, Bridesburg, Torresdale, Somerton
and — but these are minor details now. The rim had
slipped, broken; the ’slide of earth had left a wide,
jagged arc and pushed the edge back for miles. Near
the Memorial the fissure had become a yawning black
abyss into which we threw pebbles, but without hearing
the stones strike bottom. We returned, silent, our
thoughts on the crevice and the new mountain which
the landslide had formed on the plateau!
At bedtime, Toby lingered for a moment.
“In the morning. Bob,” he said, “we must start out
with the atomic machines in the morning.”
“In the morning,” I agreed, listlessly and turned
away.
With a dull head and lagging footsteps I joined Toby
at dawn. I was not interested. I was apathetic; my
thoughts wavered and staggered from one idea to an-
other without alighting anywhere in particular. Toby
and Ottokar, I saw from a distance, were regarding me
oddly and evidently discussing me. The air was filled
with the chugging of motors and the clanging of chains
and tow lines. One Metal Worm was to be left at the
Memorial to discharge the brake recoils while the other
two were to make the journey to the far north for the
send-off on their broad, rubber catterpillar treads.
Toby’s untiring thoroughness had provided trailers and
special hitches from the ruins of a neighboring town.
Into these were loaded the atomic machines from such
trucks that did not have drivers and the entire group
of trailers were hooked to the two Worms. The chil-
178
AMAZING STORIES
Sren and the few women assigned to the expedition
were seated behind their steering wheels awaiting the
signal to move.
“How are you feeling. Bob?” Toby greeted me
anxiously.
“Ready to go?” I asked, paying no attention to his
question. “Which Worm do I drive?”
“Yes, we’re all ready. . . . Did you sleep well?”
“Not very.”
He and Ottokar exchanged glances. What was the
matter with them? Why did they look at me so? I
felt mean, ready to take affront, but too tired actually
for anything but to be left alone. My surroundings
seemed to be cloaked in a haze — a welcome sort of haze.
Outlines were blurred. Nothing was sharp. When
the long train of vehicles finally moved away toward
the north, I had a detached feeling ; my mind would not
grapple with the momentousness of this trek that was
starting right under my nose: instead I made a mental
calculation of the entire length of the caravan as it
passed out of my sight and found it to be over a mile
long. I derived secret pleasure from this result. . . .
Ottokar took me back into the Memorial.
Indistinct memories of being forced to lie down, then
dragging my bed out into the open against Ottokar’s
protests, then refusing to permit anything to pass my
lips, these and others indicated the passage of days and
then of weeks. Time seemed to be slurred over for
me ; one day was like another but always there was Otto-
kar, a big Ottokar, huge and overpowering at times
and then a small, insignificant Ottokar at whom I
laughed uproarously. It was funny! Odd, too. I
could not understand. How did he do it? Now small,
now large, then small again and so on without end!
There were gaps when I remembered nothing, blank
spells when I did not exist. Finally came the time
when objects became clearer; the dimness and uncer-
tainty were lifting, and Ottokar became more stable.
He no longer surprised me : I knew exactly how big to
expect him when he appeared from nowhere to bend
over me and talk to me. Then one day I answered him
and asked him a question.
“Ottokar, my boy,” I said, “don’t hold out on me.
How about a little chicken broth and rice?”
His face lighted up.
“Say that again, Dad,” a smile wreathing about his
lips.
“A little chicken broth,” I said again, “but not much
rice, just a few grains.”
Like a shot he was gone. I heard his gay whistling
thereafter and the rattling of a pot. . . .
One bright day I left my couch and took hold of the
threads of my life where I had let them go. There were
no tidings from Joel. A photographic plate which I
exposed showed a marked continuation of the crumbling
process on the Second Earth. Well, it would not be
long now, I thought, and listened to Ottokar’s report
on how Toby was doing. His expedition was still forg-
ing north, now through the remoter Canadian wilds,
but the going was becoming so difficult and dangerous
it was certain he could not persist much longer.
The sides of the crevice northeast of the Memorial
which we had watched so constantly had moved farther
apart until now the gap could no longer be crossed
without a bridge of some sort. The tiny, branching
rills had magnified themselves into something more.
Not long now, not long now, the refrain ran through
my mind again. My heart was leaden. A tremor and
there would be nothing more to tell!
A visit to the infirmary lifted the gloom several de-
grees : there were no new cases of the disease and the
old ones were improving, some had even recovered.
“Ottokar,” I said, “you have excelled as a nurse and
doctor. You pulled me through and all the others, too!”
“The credit’s not mine,” he answered, with a pleas-
ant grin. “You just wouldn’t take any medicine or
food. You gritted your teeth and were quite — stubborn.
But you improved. Dad, and I tried the scheme on the
others — and there you are!”
That was two days ago. It is Friday today. Friday
and it is our moving day! I’ve never been suspicious,
never entertained any old folks’ tales, but here, with
annihilation facing us all, out of the medley of memories
that beset me now of my boyhood, there’s one that
stands out incisively of how my people regarded moving
on Friday. One could move on any other week day,
but to do so on Friday was a most ominous step, por-
tending mishap, misfortune and bad luck. Still, here
we were moving our homes, our very and only earthly
home — on Friday! Nb, I’m not trying to be funny. A
chill creeps up my spine. It persists. Strange, the air
is not cool and I’m not hidebound, not narrow and
stupid in my thought. Never have been! Then why
the chill? Is it an omen? . . . But I wander. I must
keep my mind to its set task. I must not fancy, I
must not harbor strange thoughts. . . .
Thursday evening I dialed Toby’s camp. As I had
foreseen, the expedition had reached its ultimate point
north : further progress without hazard to life and
equipment was impossible. Barring a few lesser acci-
dents, the journey had been completed despite obstacles
and difficulties.
“We are ready to come back now. Bob,” Toby said,
“but we’ll fly back if possible. Time’s short. We’ve
felt several earth tremors. The danger is great. The
trip out consumed entirely too much time and putting
the atomic machines in place — ^well, I hope we’ve made
no slip-up! It w'as hard. If either you or Ottokar
could bring the Jay Bird ”
“We’ll leave at once,” I assured him. “Will we be
able to find you?”
“Easily,” and he gave me the proper flight instruc-
tions.
Who should go? Ottokar’s eagerness could not be
disappointed and therefore it was he who prepared to
respond to Toby’s call.
Ottokar gripped my hand a few minutes later. It
was farewell in case — ^we didn’t say the words, but the
widening of the fissure was uppermost in our thoughts.
Without hesitating, without circling, he zoomed up and
away into the dusk. He had given her the full gun!
Wide open! Here one moment, gone the next! My
household had come out to see him off. They gave
him a rousing cheer but his flight was too swift.
At six Ottokar had crossed the Canadian border, at
seven he had passed the southern tip of Hudson Bay
at an elevation of 20,000 feet and at eight his voice
came to us exultantly.
“Must be near the camp — a faint, light haze on the
left ahead — light like a twinkling candle — getting bigger
— ^a signal fire — searchlights — it’s the camp now — hover-
ing — landing. . . .”
WORLDS ADRIFT
We were all at the loudspeaker, including the two or
three still convalescing, Ottokar had left his set open.
The microphone brought the sounds to us. We heard
everything. The clamor of the meeting came to us
clearly, then Toby’s voice issuing orders for an im-
mediate return. For several hours the Jay Bird per-
formed a shuttle service, with Toby and Ottokar alter-
nately at the stick. By dawn the entire party had been
conveyed south to the north shore of Lake Erie, or
rather the remains of that lake. Here a light breakfast
was eaten and once more the flight was resumed, this
time with the addition of another plane which was found
in a tumbled hangar at a nearby field. By eleven
today the entire personnel had landed at the Memorial.
A cold lunch was served and then there came a period
of rest during which some washed, some slept, and
others told the story of the adventurous trek to those
who had remained behind.
"We’ll wait until complete darkness sets in,” said
Toby, while we were strolling in the twilight for the
last time in the general direction of the fissure. “In
that manner we can watch our progress through the
telescope from the very start.”
I was dubious about waiting. 'All day I felt queer,
unsettled. I told him of the condition of the crevice
and we immediately hastened our footsteps to make the
last inspection. The secret qualms with which I was
obsessed I kept to myself.
The black abyss yawned before us, wider, more
ragged, more threatening. We certainly could not post-
pone our project for another day. Then my nose de-
tected a faint acrid smell. We followed the odor until
we saw the cause, a fitful cloud of haze, thin, languid
in the afternoon air and curling upward listlessly from
the depths.
“That’s new,” I said. “I don’t like it.”
“Nor I, Bob,” my companion answered.
The smoke came from beneath an overhanging clump
of dirt and rock. Toby lay down on the edge to seek
the source.
“It’s dark under here. I can’t see. Hold my le^.
Bob, will you?” He tried to say more but a fit of
coughing stopped him. The smoke, probably.
Thus held, he crawled out further and further over
the edge until the upper half of his body was out of
view and I warned him to stop. Not heeding me he
crept out more and more and I dug my heels into the
ground desperately. Then I shouted in alarm. One
shoe of Toby’s had come off in my hand. I held him
by one leg. Sweat began to pour down my face. I
felt a convulsive heave of his body and I heard another
smothered cough. Frenzy lent me strength. I pulled
and tugged at him, none too gently, dislodging one
stone after another into the crevice with my struggle.
I heard the loosened debris go bounding down into the
darkness until the sounds were lost in the great depth.
I pulled harder. I seized him about the knees and bent
over, reaching out for a higher hold under the belt
around his waist. With gasping breath and the per-
spiration in my eyes, I gave one mighty tug and brought
him entirely out.
The moisture in my eyes hid him from me for sev-
eral moments. When I did see, I was horrified to dis-
cover his face in a bath of blood. Another attack!
Would misfortune never cease to dog our steps? I
reached for him again.
179
“Don’t mind me,” he whispered. “Get going. Go,
go! Feel that?”
The ground moved under my feet. It was a slight
movement, but noticeable.
“Drop me. Bob,” he begged. “Run ! You have over
a mile. . . . Take this . . . left pocket . . . read later . . .
after , , .”
I took the envelope from his pocket and put it into
my own. Lifting him in my arms, with the terror of
another possible quaking of the earth giving me impetus,
I started stumbling toward the Memorial. From my
many pilgrimages to this spot I recalled an antiquated
old 1932 Ford in a shed somewhere in the vicinity.
Groping blindly in the falling darkness I found the
car, placed Toby in it and started for the Memorial.
One of the children must have tinkered with the car
recently. Despite its appearance and age, it took us
home in short order.
My pulse was running high. The black spectre of
Death haunted me. Toby’s shell of a body appeared
ready to give up its soul. With Ottokar’s help I carried
him up into the observatory and placed him on his cot
after it had been drawn near the big telescope. There
I gave him something to drink, gave him fresh hand-
kerchiefs and made him comfortable even while I en-
tertained slim hope of his recovery.
“I thought you’d want to be here,” I said, “when we
take off.”
“Yes, Bob— but hurry!”
Ottokar, in the meantime, had brought my house-
hold together for last instructions. I counted noses as
of old and then announced that the hour for which we
had planned these past months was here at last. En-
joining courage and a light heart, I spoke briefly.
“Vera and Ottokar will be in charge. Ottokar has
fast cars ready. Start at once in a northwesterly di-
rection and keep going until it is all over. Get as far
from the Precipice as possible. If you are left, come
back to look for us. Farewell and God be with you!”
There were cries of anguish and loud sobbing but I
turned my back upon my family. My own eyes were
wet and a lump rose in my throat that made my voice
husky. For a time things swam before me in a mist
but Toby’s voice recalled me.
“Let’s shake. Bob — before the grand play!”
His hands were cold and inert but the fires were in
his eyes. I tried to be light. “At last we’ll see why
old Joel doesn’t want us with him!” I said, but it was
sorry innuendo and Toby saw through it.
Outside the cars were starting and the last calls of
farewell were shouted up to me. The water in a glass
by Toby’s cot oscillated gently. My children, my family
would not get away in time! The Precipice was about
to cave in! We would all be plunged down upon the
plateau! Buried forever in the heart of a new moun-
tain, crushed, done for! Millions of years from now
a reborn race would — but, no, again it had been but a
premonitory shiver of the earth! The water in Toby’s
glass was still again.
I turned to the telescope. Under it a table had been
devised with the control buttons. Each button repre-
sented an atomic machine, the white ones those in the
Canadian wilderness, the black ones the machines in
front of the Memorial. The latter glinted dully in the
shine of the electric lights. The observatory dome had
{Continued on page 183)
The ‘Doubt
By Ben Aronin
I ESLIE MAPLES, once sergeant pilot, American
Escadrille, glanced curiously at his visitor, but
it was not until he heard the pleasant “Good
^ Morning” uttered with a decided German ac-
cent, that he rose to his feet in a gesture of
surprised recognition.
“Why, you’re — ^you’re — ”
“Charles Richter,” answered the other calmly. There
seemed to be a glint of cold humor behind the thick-
lensed, gold-rimmed glasses as he observed Maples’ evi-
dent confusion; and Maples, recalling a certain cold
morning in the fall of 1917, wondered greatly at the
strange anti-climax that had brought him so unexpected
a visitor.
On that memorable morning he would have sold his
hope of heaven for another chance at this squat, genial
“Mad Falcon,” who now sat ^o calmly and unconcernedly
blinking' at him. On that occasion his plane had been so
riddled by Richter’s pellets that he had been forced to
head his Nieuport earthward in a desperate attempt to
effect a safe landing Even now, he could feel the pitch
of his plane as it struck the wires encircling the field,
hurling him completely out from the cockpit in spite of
his straps.
In the hospital, nursing a broken hip, not to mention
other injuries, one thing only had consoled Maples’
wounded pride, and that was the knowledge that the
Falcon’s striped plane had crashed behind the German
lines with an unconscious pilot strapped to the front
cockpit. He learned also that Richter’s shoulder had
been shattered as a result of his skill with the Vickers.
And so they were “quits” ; but the doubt remained. Who
was the better man? Who could win if given another
chance? More than anything else in the world he
wanted that chance.
Maples scrutinized with some awe the ugly, scholarly
face that met his gaze across the desk. How ridiculously
small the black bow tie seemed against the glossy cellu-
loid collar. As their hands clasped almost mechanically.
Maples gritted his teeth, inwardly confounding the fool
doctors who had insisted that they had removed the lead
from his shoulder. If they had their way they’d be
probing yet — the damned idiots. Richter saw him wince.
“Souvenir, eh? I got mine too.” His hand went to
his side and from there moved to his shoulder with a
significant gesture. Then, as Maples nodded, “You
heard, eh?” Richter slowly seated himself. “So you’re
a lawyer?”
Richter cast an amused glance about him, and it
seemed to Maples that the blinking eyes behind those
absurdly thick lenses were observing the layer of dust
on the law books that ornamented his office sadly devoid
of clients. His visitor passed his card across the table
bearing the legend, “Charles Richter, Dentist,” with an
address in the poorer German district of the “Big
Dump.”
Fourteen planes! Maples had seen Richter’s picture
in a German paper several weeks after the armistice, but
either the photograph had been extremely flattering or
the last ten years had played woeful havoc with the pul-
chritude of his one-time enemy. He came to himself
with a start. This was damned uncomfortable. They
were measuring each other silently across the desk. His
start brought a smile to Richter’s face.
“You’ve felt it, too?”
“Felt what?” Maples knew but he could not refrain
from asking.
“Why, the doubt!" Richter rose quickly from his
chair. “They said you got twelve official — ^the others
don’t count.”
“Yours made thirteen,” responded Maples tonelessly.
“That’s why I’m here,” broke in the other curtly —
“to contest number thirteen.”
Maples searched his eyes for a twinkle. He was con-
vinced that the German was bantering.
“Well, let it rest. It’s ten years now ; the game’s been
called.”
“Ten years of piggish living. We work wdien we can,
eat, sleep, drink, grow fat and lazy. Life has lost its
interest, my friend.” Then as Maples made no reply,
“There was a Napoleon — ah, yes, I must not forget my
own countryman, Nietzche. But then again Napoleon
was the man of action. He took thousands from the
factories and gloomy workshops to give them a hero’s
hour of triumph on the battlefield. The misery of a life-
time for the ecstasy of an hour. A fair bargain, my
friend, is it not?”
This irritated Maples. “That was wholesale murder.
He was a born killer. Nothing heroic about him. Why,
they followed like sheep.”
“Rot ! Better one page of glowing tints than a thou-
sand blank sheets. Look! You’re getting pot-bellied.”
Maples flushed. It was too true. “And I — I’m getting
near-sighted. Almost blind” He snatched off his glasses
with a savage gesture. Maples, stupefied at the other’s
vehemence, regarded the red mark on the German’s nose
where the glasses had left an imprint.
“Our senses grow sleepy without danger to keep theiti
alert,” Richter was saying, “and our bodies drag them-
selves — ^yes, that’s the word — drag themselves to the
grave. If only one moment — ” He surveyed the Amer-
ican with a sharp glance of speculation. His red eyes
shot fire. “Besides, we’ve got to knozv! A biplane like
the one you had in the Somme, and I my striped darling
—eh?”
Maples leaned across the desk Was the man mad?
No, in the German’s face he could read only grim pur-
pose. He strove to keep his mind calm, to be as poised
as the other seemed. It had always been in the back of
his mind ; now it was steadily creeping to the fore. He
wanted to know. God ! How he wanted to know who
was the better man.
180
“It would be murder.” He spoke the words slowly.
“For whom? , . . The honors were even, my friend.
There might still be a Chapter Two.”
The room was stifling. Maples walked to the window
and flung it open, conscious of the fact that a pair of
appraising expectant eyes were fixed on his every move.
There below, the roar of the mob. How small the people
looked. He could feel himself once more in his Nieu-
port, looking down from over the edge of the cockpit,
the stick between his knees, his hand gripping the shovel
handle, finger on the release. Then the dull staccato rat-
tle of the gun perched on the roof of the plane. He felt
his senses reeling. The German was speaking.
“Understand me, Herr Maples, I do not hate you.
But there is always the Doubt. It has eaten into your
heart, as it has eaten into mine. It isn’t a question of
sentiment. We didn’t stop then to question. It was the
fun of the thing, and we had to make excuses to our
conscience. Let’s be frank about it. Let’s lay this Doubt
forever. Is it a go ?”
Maples’ heart was pounding wildly. He was fighting
to get that quaver out of his voice and make it sound
like Richter’s — deep, matter-of-fact.
“Just what do you mean?”
“Nothing but this. My plane is in a hangar at New-
foundland. I’m paying a mechanic to keep her in shape.
I fitted her with two guns, ready for action. Why, I’ve
even painted the stripes on her, and the Maltese cross.”
The German’s eyes gleamed. “You could borrow one on
the strength of your record. Let’s say the 19th — that
will give you a week ; it will be ten years to a day since
we finished Chapter One — ”
“And this will be Chapter Two,” finished Maples firm-
ly, exulting in the fact that his voice was deeply resonant
and betrayed no fear. Richter rose and stood stiffly
erect.
“You are a worthy foe, Herr Maples. It will be dawn.
Think of it! It will be cold, and it will be over the
water — just over Captain Bell’s lighthouse. Regular fly-
ing time. Five o’clock, wasn’t it?”
He saluted, and like an actor in a military drama
Maples returned the salute, wondering all the time
whether this was not some sort of nightmare from which
he would soon awake, to laugh at its seeming reality.
“Atif wieder sehen!” and with a nod the visitor was
gone.
The slam of the door brought Maples back to earth.
He looked about the office dazedly, half forming the in-
tention to call Richter back. His eyes wandered to his
desk where the dusty files stared up at him. Ugly yellow
files, spelling routine, heartache, leaden monotony He
brought his hand to his forehead. It was covered with
sweat. Hell! Had the ten years of idleness shattered
his nerves? He thought of the uncertainty, the unrest,
the agony of doubt. It wouldn’t be as if he had any-
one dependent upon him. It was simply a duel that he
had accepted — somewhat spectacular, true, but what of
that ? Duels were being fought even now in Europe and
people didn’t think the participants mad.
Lieutenant Stroh shoved the aviator’s cap back on his
forehead impatiently.
“You tinkering idiot — all set?” he asked good natured-
ly.
“Sure, Chief, she’s all right — fine,” the mechanic an-
swered with a grin. Stroh scanned the road eagerly. A
little roadster was approaching at rapid speed down the
long slope that led to the landing field. The occupant
brought the car to a stop and then, as though to belie his
haste, got leisurely out. He was dressed in the faded
uniform of a French aviator, the uniform apparently
being several sizes too small for him.
“Mape, you old son of a gun.” Lieutenant Stroll’s
arms were about his buddy. “Where the devil have you
been keeping yourself? Three years dead, and then you
bob up for a buggy ride. Well, kid. I’m all set to take
you. Where’ll you ride — front or back?”
“Never mind, Lieut, I’ll go up alone if it’s all the same
to you.” Then seeing the hurt look in his buddy’s eyes,
“You see, it’s a sort of personal matter.” Stroh looked
at him wonderingly.
“Say, there’s something queer about this. Your letter
sounded kind of funny to me.” He extended his arm as
though to detain Maples. “It’s three years since you’ve
been up, isn’t it?” Maples did not answer. He was
fastening on the parachute which the mechanic had
brought him. Then he noticed with some satisfaction
the Lewis machine gun with the cartridge belt in place.
“She won’t jam?”
“No, she’s oiled — ticks like a clock. There’s another
belt, but what — Say, what’s the idea? You’re not prac-
tising maneuvers, are you?”
Maples clambered over the side, not wanting to hurt
his friend’s feelings, yet realizing that he could not ex-
plain. For the first time there was a clammy coldness
at his heart. Fear? Bosh! It was just the unreality
of the thing. Damn ! His elbow had struck the side of
the seat — his “funny-bone.” He rubbed it viciously.
His forearm was tingling and the pain made him irritable
— awakening in him the desire for immediate action.
“Contact!” he wanted to shout. "Essence et gazl”
so swiftly had the years flown back. The roar of the
motor sent his blood racing. The short grass bent back
as though in the face of a violent storm. His nostrils
dilated. The ten years had vanished with the first
whirr of the propeller. He wondered if the trip he
had taken with Stroh three years before had sufficiently
acquainted him with the workings of the Curtiss. The
roaring subsided. Maples nodded, and the mechanic
jerked away the blocks. He drew himself back in the
seat. The big plane started off uncertainly. The fog
still hung over the field and the air seemed cold and
damp against his hand as he waved to Stroh, who was
running beside the plane shouting something unintelligi-
ble and waving his arms.
Maples noticed with a thrill the evenness of the field
as the plane gathered speed. His hand pulled gently
back on the stick, and almost imperceptibly the plane
was fighting its way upward. His heart beat with a
fierce joy. What was it Richter had said? "The misery
of a lifetime for the ecstasy of an hour.”
He had been travelling east ; now he pointed the nose
of his plane northward, skirting the seashore. Far
below him the rugged outline of the great rocks marked
his pathway. He knew the lighthouse was next —
weather-beaten old Captain Bell’s lighthouse — ^and after
that — . With a suddenness that startled him, the sun
burst through the mist. Past the lighthouse he per-
ceived a dark speck that hung motionless in a white
cloud, and a moment later he knew that Richter had
kept the “Rendezvous.”
His hand clutched the butt of the gun. What a
devil that Richter was! He was saluting him with a
181
182
reckless series of wing spins, zooming up with the nose
of his plane pointed to the sky, so that a tail-spin seemed
inevitable. Completing the loop, he recovered, banked
sharply and dove at Maples. The American saw the
gauntleted hand wave at him for a moment and then
swiftly withdraw itself. Above the roar of the motor
he heard the dull rattle of the gun. Red streaks of fire
darted toward him. The duel had begun.
With a nervous push on the stick Maples brought
his plane sharply down below the oncoming Falcon,
then zoomed upward, banking and driving straight for
its tail. This would be short. He pressed his lips
tightly together. His gun was on a line with the tail
of his opponent’s plane. Grimly he pulled the release
and thrilled as the roller jerked around. A miss was
impossible at that distance — yet to his horror he saw
the Falcon continue on her course unscathed, watched
Richter zoom upward, looping completely over him, and
saw positions reversed, with his plane a fair target for
the other’s gun. The thing was incredible! He had
emptied almost his entire roller at the plane!
Suddenly it flashed across him — ^and he cursed bitterly,
subbingly. Fool ! he raged at himself.
The bullets were blanks!
He should have remembered that. He hadn’t confided
in Stroh, and Stroh had given him the plane used by
the army student in his maneuvers. A Lewis machine
gun, perfectly synchronized with the revolutions of the
propeller, rattling faultlessly — and blanks!
His first instinct was to wave to Richter, in some way
communicating to him his helplessness. His plane sud-
denly lurched downward as the end of the right wing
collapsed with the fabric flapping. Maples regarded it
stupidly. Too late! Richter had him. He could hear
the reports of the other’s gun in back of him now. The
lurch had thrown him slightly out of the line of ‘fire,
and Richter swooped past him. He caught a fleeting
glimpse of the stocky figure bending forward, clutching
the butt of the gun. He would turn soon — ^and then —
Maples’ hands were clammy with sweat. He was as
one paralyzed. Almost mechanically he adjusted the
chute. About nine thousand feet, he calculated ; a drop
over the side and safety. But the other would not
know — would always believe that he had misjudged the
skill and courage of his adversary. The Falcon was
banking, climbing the while. In another moment the
German would loosen a stream of lead. Then Maples
smiled, as he had smiled in his bed in the hospital when
he had heard of Richter’s forced descent ten years
before. The injured fabric might not stand the strain,
but to hell with it!
He pointed the nose downward, intending to loop
under the other, but instantly perceiving a wire of the
injured wing snap, he swerved suddenly and passed to
the right of the Falcon who, swinging the barrel of
his gun around, loosened a stream of bullets at him as
he went by. Damn — he’d got it that time. Maples
knew that his left arm was quite useless. He’d felt the
sting of lead before. There was a haze in front of his
eyes, and it seemed to him that the wires hummed as
he banked and raced side by side along with the Falcon.
They were far over the sea now. If only the wings
would hold a little while longer. In his mind’s eye was
the vision of a morning in the Somme when his French
buddy, nick-named “Monsieur Oui Oui,” mortally
wounded, had deliberately driven the nose of his plane
against the wing of his conqueror’s plane. The wings
of both machines had buckled, and they had plunged
down together . . .
“Thanks, Frenchy,” muttered Maples.
He was alongside the Falcon now, just a little .in
advance. Richter was swinging the murderous black
barrel around. 'With a terrific effort Maples slammed
his left foot forward on the control, and in an instanf
the nose of his plane swung toward the side of the
Falcon. Richter, divining his desperate move, tore off
his goggles and half rose from his seat in the cockpit,
pulling frantically at his straps. Maples saw his face
twisted in horror as the planes met with a frightful
^impact.
The interlocked planes seemed to waver a moment
in midair. The Falcon’s propeller was still revolving.
A tongue of flame, and then a sudden sickening lurch
as they plunged downward, turning over and over. The
impact had thrown Maples half out of the cockpit.
At that instant he realized that he was still clutching
the butt of the gun, and with his last strength he threw
himself clear of the plane, falling head downward and
tearing at the string. A sudden tug — a moment of
frightful suspense; then the pull under his armpits as
darkness came over him.
The old lighthouse keeper had been the only spectator
of the combat, and stumbling down the long spiral
stairway he crawled into the dory and pulled toward
the spot where the parachute, puffed out like a wrecked
balloon, was visible above the water.
Maples opened his eyes to find the weather-beaten old
man bending over him, regarding him silently. He
wondered just how much the old lighthouse keeper had
seen — or understood. There would be an inquiry — a
trial, perhaps. He looked about him. He was lying in
a bunk, covered with burlap that smelled of rotten fish.
His arm was aflame and his whole left side seemed
numb, yet he was conscious of a great and abiding
peace within his soul.
The Doubt was gone!
The End
Watch for the
Spring-Summer Edition
AMAZING STORIES QUARTERLY
Out April 20th
AMAZING STORIES
183
Worlds Adrift
By Stephen G. Hale
{Continued from page 179)
been pushed back. I wanted air, space ; I wanted to see
our own Earth as well as Joel’s ! . . .
The astronomer’s clock still ticks solemnly behind
me. I am sitting before the telescope, my eye glued to
the eyepiece. A sheet of paper lies ready to hand. I
‘ write in shorthand, talk to myself, manipulate the but-
tons and watch.
A short time ago my fingers faltered above the but-
tons. As if to lift my palsy from out of the black night
came the sound of distant reverberations and the far
sky became a ruddy orange. Another fire ! Like a fool
I waited for my doom ! I was a waster of the precious
seconds! My fingers dropped upon five of the white
keys. A tiny bulb glowed before me for the fraction
of a second. The power had flashed through the air.
Up there amid the polar regions five atomic machines
had begun to belch their explosive power!
“Five buttons down, Toby,” I cried, “and not a
tremor !”
“Double them!”
I did. “Still no effect!”
“Should there be ? A rocket car — or ship — no shocks.
Bob.”
The Second Earth and the Moon had just drifted into
view from behind the scudding clouds. Stars began to
twinkle.
“No change, Toby,” and I depressed more of the
buttons. I turned a lever, made the discharges continu-
ous. More keys down ! I sighted through the telescope
again, checked what I saw by a glance at the other
instruments.
“At last, Toby!” I shouted. “We’re going! It’s
moving! I’m sure of it! Man alive, what have we
done? More keys, Toby! Down, down with them!
Your space ship is launched! There’s the — see? The
sun again! Our second sunset! We’ve turned slightly,
A madman’s dream come ”
I broke off, I stared, my mind reeling with a new
discovery.
“Toby,” I cried again, “what day of the month is
this ?” I swung around to consult the almanac. There
was the red circle around the date. I had put it there
myself. There was another like it on the next page.
Toby looked, his face turning a sickly pallor. His cough
came again. I looked through the telescope.
“We’re mad, Toby, demented, a couple of doddering
old fools!” I roared. “We’re in syzygy tonight, the
wrong one! But Toby — what have we done?” The
question was like a moan from my lips. “We’re smash-
ing into the Moon, Toby,” horror growing in my voice.
“Over a hundred thousand we’re going — right into the
Moon ! The Moon’s coming between us and the Second
Earth. It’s coming between us and Joel! It’s cover-
ing up the Second Earth gradually. The Moon, do
you hear me? — the Moon! We’re smashing into it!
The wrong conjugation, Toby ; we should have waited !”
Toby rose from his couch with a groan and stood
beside me. His trembling hands clawed at me for sup-
port, while he looked through the telescope. Blood
dripped upon the instrument. The clock ticked. Out-
side the animals snarled and barked and whined. In-
sects droned about us. One sank itself into my neck
but I stood unmoved. . . . We were about to destroy
a satellite, our satellite, Joel’s and ours ! My mind was
crowded with that fact.
Toby s hands fell from me. He wavered for a mo-
ment, swaying on his feet, stood upright and spoke.
“Bob,” he said, “forgive me. . . . Do. . . . Tried to
--to atone but no luck,” bitterly. “Going out — Bob —
sir — so long ” and he sought the staircase un-
steadily. I caught him at the landing but too late.
Toby had gone, he had left me. Tenderly I placed the
lifeless body on the cot and drew the red stained sheet
up over it.
I found the envelope he had given me and read the
note which it contained. Its message didn’t startle me.
“Toby, old scout,” I whispered and my eyes felt
■warm and moist, “this has been a new life for you, for
us. I don’t care what you were in that other one”;
and I destroyed the last written words of Serge Grub-
snig, the mad Russian scientist! . . .
T he Moon spreads out over my portion of the
heavens. Watching it intently I can see it grow
larger and larger. It’s less than 50,000 miles away.
Spots and streaks of bright sheen visible along the
edges. The lunar mountains! The high peaks are in
the sun still. Everything calm and serene ! One might
die there in peace ! Death ! Oblivion ! . . . But must
I die? Must our project fail utterly? And there is
my family!
The black keys! There’s a chance yet! . . . I just
pushed the master button. It controls all the other black
keys. The atomic machines down below me are speak-
ing — all at once — ^yet again — and again — and still once
more! The ground under me heaves and I hear the
earth ripping. Is it the landslide? . . . The recoil is
holding the edge in place. I can see from here that
the crevice is closed. One danger is over!
The telescope shows results — floating down — mo-
mentum broken by the recoils. The gravitational pull
is drawing the Moon slowly closer. I am to be spared
again. If nothing unforeseen happens, the Moon will
land below me — in center of vertical plateau. That’s
where it’s going! Like a plum, for size, landing on a
cantaloupe. . . The crucial moment is here ! . . . De-
pressing more black keys — surprising control — almost
touching ! . . . There ! As softly as falling thistledown,
as lightly as dandelion seed! I have landed on the
Moon! Or has the Moon landed on the Earth? . . .
It doesn’t matter. The Moon and this terrestrial frag-
ment are one! . . . Toby’s space ship takes on the
Moon! . . . And I am alive, still alive!
The telescope shows details on the Second Earth
clearly. ... I can see South America — Brazil — Mexico
— yes, there’s Florida and — and Delaware Bay — and —
.well, I imagine — yes, that must be about where Phila-
delphia, the rest of it, should be! . . . A grand and
glorious feeling! . . . Like coming home . . . nearer
Joel. . . . Why not ? . . . Only 90,000 miles away. . . .
184
AMAZING STORIES
May, 1932
I’ll do it ! . . . I’ll go the rest of the way . . . take the
Moon with me ! . . . Ha ! Ha ! to light my way ! . . .
I have depressed the white keys. . . . Going forward
again. . . . My acceleration tremendous . . . increasing.
. . . Second Earth still in line . . . no, just a trifle off
. . . not much . . . I’ll land in the West . . . between the
Hawaiian Islands and the Mississippi. . . . I’m coming,
Joel — coming!
What’s that? A noise in the planetarium! . . . The
radio! . . . Maybe Ottokar. . . . Shouldn’t bother me
now. . . . But perhaps it’s Joel ! . . .
It was Joel sure enough! ... a relief to talk to him.
. . . Didn’t let him say a word . . .he can’t stop me at
the last minute with his argument. ... I told him the
Space Traveller de luxe was about to land. ... No,
he can’t stop me. . . .
I’m coming with my little lunar lamp, ha, ha! . . .
There’s something wrong! . . . Instruments must be
wrong. . . . Acceleration 500 — 600 — 650 thousand and
still — it’s 700,000 now ! . . . The white keys have
stuck! . . . can’t get them up. . . . The Second Earth
10,000 — 9,000 miles away. . . . This sweat! ... I
can’t see. . . . The keys won’t budge . . . I’ll wreck
the Second Earth. . . . No, too late! . . . Have missed
Joel. . . . Second Earth a speck behind . . . accelera-
tion a million ! . . . The black keys. . . . Down with
them, down. ... No use . . . velocity too great. . . .
What’s that red ball? ... It can’t be! It is! It is!
. . . Mars. . . . The sun’s getting smaller . . . colder.
. . . It just dawns on me. . . . I’m leaving the solar
system . . . clear path . . . nothing in front. . . . Oh,
God . . . help . . . me!
The End
What Do You Know?
R eaders of amazing Stomes have frequently commented upon the fact that there is more actual knowledge
. to be gained through reading its pages than from many a text-book. Moreover, most of the stories are written
in a popular vein, making it possible for anyone to grasp important facts.
The questions which we give below are all answered on the pages as listed at the end of the questions. Please
see if you can answer the questions without looking for the answer, and see how well you check up on your gen-
eral knowledge of science.
1. What nations claim to be the birthplaces of modern
chemistry? (See page 103.)
2. What place in Pennsylvania is regarded as the local-
ity of Priestley’s work? (See page 103.)
3. How may chemistry be described in respect to its
scientific basis? (See page 103.)
4. Of how many elements is the matter of the earth
built up? (See page 103.)
S. What element essential to life, without which ele-
ment we should die in a few minutes, is present in
sand and rock crystal? (See page 103.)
6. How many elements are there? (See page 103.)
7 . What class of substances are formed of some of
four identical elements? (See page 103.)
8. What instruments of daily use would be destroyed
by the oxidation of metals? See page 106.)
9. Why would paper money be the only available cur-
rency? (See page 107.)
10. What kind of substances are cities dependent on?
(See page 109.)
11. If there were two suns of different colors, how could
an eclipse be produced? (See pages 133-134.)
12. What men, father and son, were said to have flown
in past ages? (See page 146.)
13. How is basaltic glass formed? (See page 155.)
14. How far is the moon from the earth ? (See page 165.)
15. What does syzygy mean? (See page 166.)
16. What is the orbital velocity of the earth about the
sun? (See page 167.)
17. How would j'ou express in concise form three thou-
sand millions of millions of millions? (See page 171.)
In this department we shall discuss, every month, topics o£ interest to readers. The editors invite correspondence on all
st^jects directly or indirectly related to the stories appearing in this magaeine. In case a special personal answer is required,
a nominal fee of 26c to cover time and postage is required.
A PLEASANT LETTER FOR THE EDI-
TOR. WHOSE OCCUPATION IS TRY-
INC TO PLEASE THE READERS
Editor, Amazing Stories;
Have just finished reading the January issue
of Amazing Stories and wish to say that I am
more than pleased with it.
No. 1 — “Pygmalion” of The Lemurisn Docu-
ments was rather disappointing. One would
rather Cal-Atna had come to life. But ap-
parently the author made his point, even
though, I am not in sympathy w-ith his view.
To me, the stories should be rated in the follow-
ing order as to their general good qualities.
“Tumithak of the Corridors” — Tanner; “The
Inevitable Conflict” — Lovering; “Power” —
Vincent; “No. 1 Pygmalion — Burtt.
In “Tumithak of the Corridors,” Mr. Tanner
has exhausted the possibilities for a novel in
a short story. However, he has left the road
wide open for a sequel or several sequels and
I will certainly be disappointed if he does not
give us a sequel telling how Tumithak eventu-
ally led united humanity out of the corridors
and conquered both the Earth and Venus; how
he enticed humanity out of numberless other
isolated corridors, similar to his own, etc.; and
how they reduced the sheiks to submission, not
destruction. I am not in sympathy with the
idea of the annihilation of entire populations
and worlds as happens in some of our stories.
To me, it is as ridiculous as the useless annihil-
ation of entire species of animals as has hap-
pened many times since civilization enveloped
the globe.
But I am in absolute sympathy with the
complete subjection of tyrannous populations.
There are possibilities in “Tumithak of the
Corridors” for several good sequels and I hope
the author will do something about it.
Furthermore, I can’t see why so many writers
to the “Discussions” columns will insist on
writing whole letters picking flaws in the illus-
trations, etc. To me, the main item in any
magazine is its literature. If 1 bought A. S.
for its pictures, I would never buy it and that
doesn’t mean that the illustrations aren’t good
either. They are merely unimportant. The
quality of the literature is primary. I sup-
pose these critics are object-minded and I am
abstract-minded; terms I coined to make my
point which makes very apt that hackneyed ex-
(.Continued on page 186)
May, 1932
AMAZING STORIES
185
They Dared Me
TO PUBUSH THIS £
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Why husbands tire of wives
Dreadful disease due to igno*
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Diseases of women
Babies and birth control
Twilight eaay child-
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Diseases of children
Family health guide
Change of life— hygiene
Why children die young
Inherited traits and diseases
What will you toil your grow-
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The mystery of twins
Hundreds of valuable reme-
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Nursing and weaning
How to care for invalids
Secrets for Men
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Mistakas of early marriagea
Secrets of fascination
Joys of perfect mating
How to make women love you
Accidents and emergendeg
Hygiene in tbe Homo
Linutation of offsfMing^
Warning to young men
Dangerous diseases'^^
Secrets of sex attraction
Hygienic precaution
Anatomy smd physiology
The reproductive organs
What every woman wants
Education of the family
Sex health and prevention
What
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" The very freedom enjoyed by
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— yes, those who intend to marry
should know:—
The dangers of petting
How to be a vamp
How to manage honeymoon
Beauty diets and baths
How to attract desirable men
How to manage men
How to know if he loves you
How to acquire bodily grace
and beauty
How to beautify face, hands, {
hair, teeth and feet
How to acquire charm
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Intimate personal hygieno
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186
AMAZING STORIES
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pression, “It takes all kinds of people to make
the world.”
In these days of radio, airplanes and other
wonderful, modern inventions, it sounds absurd
to say anything is impossible, but nevertheless,
I am willing to concede without any argument
that time traveling is impossible. To me, time
is the present. The past is gone. The time
traveler would find nothing in the past because
it is gone. The future has not yet happened.
The time traveler would find nothing there for
time has not yet arrived. Time traveling
stories make interesting reading, but they are
not to be taken seriously. Interplanetary stories
are my favorites.
I would like to take issue with Mr. R.
Frederick Hester as to his objections regarding
“thrones,” etc., in his interplanetary stories.
Whether the beings of other planets have
“thrones’* or not, we do not know, but the hu-
man race has been under the domination of
masters of various kinds and forms ever since
the dawn of history and probably always will
be. What is the difference whether they are
a chief, king, czar, or a 1930 Mussolini, Kemal
Pasha or the American God called “Dollar.**
The most tyrannous tyrant that ever shoved
his slaves to the point of desperation is the
American Dollar. No, I am not a communist.
My ancestors came to the United States three
hundred years ago.
Mr. L. M. Jensen’s fourth question asks if
the ether is a vibration. I do not know, but
I have read the. theory in A. S. that all matter
is merely a form of vibrations — different vi-
brations making different forms of matter. See
Jack Williamson’s “Stone from the Green Star.’*
Let me add my say to that of Rufus E. Bow-
land. Don’t print any reprints. Why not sell
some of the most popular stories to some pub-
lishing company and let them issue them in
book form? That would solve the problem
without making our magazine a repetition of
the same stories over and over, I have most
of the copies since June, 1931, and will sell
them if anyone wants them.
Alan E. Blume commends Dr. Keller on “The
Steam Shovel” and it is plausible up to the
point where the author leaves the inference that
“The Steam Shovel” is still wandering around in
the hills which is impossible because it would
stop when it ran out of fuel and if not then, it
would stop when the elephants brain died of
starvation,
Russell F. Jones,
Barstow, California.
(Personally, we quite admired “Tumithak of
the Corridors’* and are glad to read what you
say about it. We shall hope that Mr. Tanner
will give us a sequel in the future. We agree
with your views of time travel, but we must
admit that it gives excellent material for highly
imaginative stories. We are very much amused
at the way you treat the American dollar. It
may shove its slaves to the point of desperation,
yet curiously enough, we would all like to have
more of it. W* have so much to learn about
the ether, that it is hardly worth our while to
speculate about it, for any theory will be
enormously modified in the future. It has been
generally agreed that the early issues of the
magazine which were characterized by many
reprints ,were far less interesting than w^hen we
depended principally upon original, new stories.
— Editor.)
THE “ASSOCIATION OF INTERPLAN-
ETARY ENGINEERS’*
Editor, Amazing Stories:
I read your magazine and find it very inter-
esting, I am very interested in space flying and
the like. I might as well get right down to
the point. I belong to the “Association of
Interplanetary Engineers.” This is a group of
young men who are greatly interested in In-
terplanetary subjects. This is no organization
of boys who just want to say that they belong
to the “Association of Interplanetary En-
gineers,” This is an organization of young
men who are really doing some honest work
on this subject.
I >vill make this letter short and brief, so as
not to take up so much of your time, but I
want to add, that if there are any young men
who are sincerely interested in Interplanetary
subjects I should like them to drop me a letter
telling me about themselves. Remember, this
is only for people who are sincere.
If you will print this letter it may help our
cause a great deal.
Van Horn Fabricius,
447 Central Avenue,
Orange, New Jersey.
May, 1932
(We are glad to publish your letter and we
hope that it will lead to results and increase
the membership of your society. — Editor.)
AN INTERESTING CONTRIBUTION ON
THE GENERAL FEATURES OF
AMAZING STORIES
Editor, Amazing Stories:
Having been a reader of Amazing Stories for
several years, I wish to make a few remarks to
compliment you on the general make-up of
Amazing Stories, and also on the stories that
yon are putting in it.
While some are not as good as others, still
you cannot expect all to be of the same high
caliber.
While some do not appeal to me at all, still
it is seldom that there is not some point or idea
in the poorest of them.
I sure do get a kick out of the Discussions
column.
It amuses me the way some of the critics
criticise; you would think that no one knew
how to write or what to write except the afore-
said criticiser.
But since they are so good at it, why do
we not see some of their writings in Amazing
Stories?
Some of the criticisms on the other hand are
fine, for they not only bring out the good and
bad points of a story, but also give you some
new point to think of.
Some of our critics say that this or that point
in a story is impossible, or that it could not
be done.
Do they ever stop to consider that the word
impossible is a rather large word?
Who can say what is possible or not possible?
Vniiy can they not use their imagination just
a little?
And what is our imagination?
Can you or anyone else really say what it is,
or how it really functions, or has it shape or
color?
If we as human beings did not have this
so-called imagination, we of today would not
have advanced beyond the early stages of sav-
agery.
Therefore, I think that our writers are en-
titled to some license in the use of their imagi-
nation in writing their stories.
In my own personal opinion, the best writer
that you have at present, and I doubt very much
that you will in a long time, if ever, find his
equal, is none other than Edward E. Smith,
Ph.D.
“Skylark of Space” and “Skylark Three” are
the best that I have ever read, and I have re-
read them several times.
Every time that I read them I find something
new in them that I missed before.
Dr. Smith may, at some time, write the equal
of those two stories. I sincerely hope that he
does that very thing soon; but when he does that,
he will know that he has accomplished some-
thing.
When you stop to analyze those two stories,
and take only those events and circumstances
that are possible (in the more common use of
the word possible), you have something very
much worthwhile. Smith should be able to make
some of our real scientists think if they are so
fortunate as to read those two stories.
There is certainly a large amount of action,
in those two stories, while not within our grasp
today, yet who can say just how long it will
be before it is?
John Lange,
Mercedes, Texas.
(We feel that severe criticism of his work is
good for any editor who takes it in the right
way. We have taken great pains in conducting
the “Discussions’* column to give a good quan-
tity of letters from correspondents, which are
published practically unedited and are virtually
just as they were written. If these critics
would answer your query, by undertaking to
write a story, they might well be surprised at
the difficulty of the task. We quite like the way
in which you put the status of the word “im-
possible” and the other word “imagination.”
Certainly, if our writers did not use imagina-
tion, the stories would suffer for it. You throw
some few “brick-bats” — for a wonder they are
directed not at the humble editor, but at his
critics and those of the authors. We are glad to
read what you say about Dr. Smith. He has
made a great success. Personally he is a very
delightful man, but he is a busy man in his scien-
tific field and we cannot expect to get stories
from him frequently. — Editor.)
May, 1932
AMAZING STORIES
187
A REMARKABLE LETTER FROM THE
ARGENTINE
Editor, Ama2ing Stories:
Before reading this letter you must promise
to pardon any mistakes in orthography or style,
I never spoke English to an Englishman and
I never vi^rote so long a letter in English, as 1
intend to do just now.
My parents are German. I was bom in
Argentine, I learned English at a German
school in Buenos Aires. All this in order to
show you what A- S. has done for me.
I ran across the first scientifiction story in
a German book for boys: “Das neue Uni*
versum’^ Volume 22. It was as far back as
1915 or 1916, but the book must have been
much older as there were no new German books
obtainable in B. A. during the world war,
(The book appears a volume a year and today
is about volume SO.) There were two more
scientifiction stories in volumes 29 and 34 (the
only volumes I could get). One of these
stories dealt with a wireless communication with
Mars on a 12 or 15 km wave (I), I reread
this particular story some months ago. Rather
it is scientifiction for boys 12 to 15 years old,
explaining in detail how the communication is
established with the intelligent inhabitants of
Mars by transmitting : and then
nine, sixteen and twenty-five dots, aw'aiting an
answer, which was expected to be : 6, 8, 10
36, 64, 100 dots. This answer is successfully
received in due time and now the symbols
+ — X and : are explained by furthw ex-
amples, then follow the value nil, the equations
of the ellipse, parabola and hyperbola, the
representation of these curves by co-ordinates
and finally the transmission of pictures of men
and things of our world, also by co-ordinates.
After having read the above mentioned three
scientifiction stories I have always tried to get
more of that kind of literature. I only re-
member one more story in German, a short
novel about a man experimenting with radium.
He is disintegrated and hashed to Venus and
“reassembled” there. The end is that all has
been a dream during a fever caused by radium
burns and the story is ruined.
About 1920 my mother presented me with
“King Salomon's Mines,” by Rider Haggard
I began reading English without a teacher
urging me to do it. I read every book by that
author 'dealing with Africa and Asia. Having
nearly exhausted Rider Haggard, I tried other
English authors subconsciously looking for sci-
entifiction combined with adventure, but I
found none. I read “Tarzan” in German
translation — simply stupid. I became fond of
reading in English. I regularly bought Model
Engineer at the bookstand and later on sub-
scribed to the Model Railway News, both En-
glish publications. (On this opportunity 1 wrote
my first English letter.)
Later on I read “Radio News,” “Popular Sci-
ence” and “Science and Invention.” In the
latter, I at last found scientifiction (I did not
know that word then, I called it novels dealing
with the future development of science and
engineering).
“The Metal Emperor’* was the story I came
across in “Science and Invention.” After
reading the advertisement of A. S. in that mag-
azine, I raided the newsstands to find it. No
mean task in those days of little circulation of
“onr** mag. But finally I got hold of it. After
having bought some copies, always annoying
the bookstand man asking for A. S., days before
the mail was due. At last I decided to sub-
scribe. , . . Month after month I swallowed
A. S. as fast as I could. The difficulty in
sending the money and some percent laziness (I
must confess) made me let the subscription
expire, but nevertheless I nearly got every copy.
This monthly exercise in English has
the result that I can express today my ideas
in English in spite of the numerous infractions
against the laws of grammar, of which I feel
guilty.
A certain brick-throwing gentleman, who
practised shooting in the December copy, helped
me in writing this letter by sticking up as a
target your author Capt. Meek and Mj. Rice
Burroughs. Only once (and I hope it shall not
occur again) I left an A. S. novel unfinished.
It was “Submicroscopic.** I had enough after
the first five or six pages and I never tried to
read “Awlo of Ulm,” when I saw that it was
a sequel to “Submicroscopic. I disliked the
“Drums of Tapajos” and I am very suspicious
about “Troyana” which I have not yet read.
1 did not like “Through the Green Prism** and
“Beyond the Green Prism.** I know that many
of your readers appreciate your authors C^pt.
Meek and Mr. Hyatt Verrill — I do not.
About illustrations: I do not like them! An
author describes some animal, machine, etc.
The reader reacts to that description, forming
in his imagination a picture of that animal or
machine. This picture varies with the person-
ality, education and character of the reader.
Now your artist, illustrating a certain descrip-
tion, . forces upon the reader his idea of the
described object. The artist may fail to draw
what he sees in his fancy or his imagination
reacts in a different manner than the reader’s
does. Result: the reader thinks the picture
has been drawn by a poor artist. I believe
only those who are unable or too lazy to follow
a description do like the illustrations. . . .
Why do you mix the colors of your cover
pictures like preparing salad? Why not let
us have covers in three or four colors? (I
admit the necessity of cover pictures in order
to get new readers.) The colors must be plain
and their distribution equilibrated (e.g. A. S.,
December), framed with black and white like
the covers of “Popular Science.*’
I just received the February copy. I always
enjoy the short stories by Dr. Keller. (Please
ask that gentleman what happened to the two
people marooned in the penthouse at San
Francisco.)
Look out! Bricks coming! The rocks repre-
sented on the February cover look like a side
scene of a stage.
Poor perspective in the illustration of the
penthouse.
Look at the malignant, idiotic faces of the
misshaped embryos which would be the highly
intelligent good-natured Sages of Eros (though
the author tells they are extremely ugly, naus-
eating, they need not look like criminals).
Poor Tommy must dive every time the pro-
jector holds an old firearm against the planks
or keel of the “Susan Carter” for Mr. Morey
mounted the projector so wrong that it is im-
possible to aim out of the cabin window at an
angle greater than ten degrees below the
horizon.
Kindly throw this letter into the waste-paper
basket and go on with “our” mag. as you did
I today.
Hans J. Lesser,
Rio Segundo F. C. C A. Prov. Cordoba,
Argentine Republic
(We publish your letter in great part to
show what a linguist can do. Your English is
almost perfect. There are comparatively few
English speaking people that could write a
German letter as perfect as you wrote an En-
glish one. Incidently, do not accept the term
scientifiction as a real English word. The
stories which you dislike are very popular with
our readers. — Editors.)
A CRITIC OP FOURTEEN YEARS AGE
Editor f Amazing Stories:
The wonderful February Amazing Stories
inspired me to write a letter to you telling how
much my friends and I have enjoyed this issue.
For one thing, the story “Heritage of the
Earth,” was super -excellent. I always like a
story that has a lot of science in it. A lot of
the stories lately claim to be “scientifiction” but
there is absolutely no science in them. These
I would classify as “Weird.” “The Racketeer
Ray,” was one with a high scientific value.
“The Pent House” was one delightful story.
Keller’s stories are almost always good.
Let me here congratulate Mr. Kalland on the
vronderful story, “The Sages of Eros.” This
was one story in which interplanetary travel
w'as involved, and yet there was not a war, and
killing by ray cannons, as in most of inter-
planetary stories. We like these stories, but
they certainly are overdone. “Troyana” was
a good story ,but I have read better stories by
Capt. Meek,
For the improvement of our magazine as a
whole, I would say that if the paper it is printed
on was of better quality, it would have every-
thing that an all-star Stf. mag. would hope
to have. Since about four or five months
ago, the stories have been getting better, and
better. Certainly the editorials of Dr. Sloane
are appreciated.
William Palmer,
6028 33rd Avenue,
Kenosha, Wisconsin
(Your very welcome letter shows that some
of our readers do appreciate our efforts. We
agree entirely with what you say about science
in the stories. We are delighted to read your
statement that the stories have been getting
better and better and also glad that you like
the opening editorials. — Editor.)
I'M GLAD
I'M AN ARTIST
“When I see fellows in other lines being let
out I’m glad I trained my liking for drawing
and became an artist. A few years ago I was
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Now I'm a trained artist — ^and I’ve quit
worrying. Every Tom, Dick and Harry can’t
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Art training has certainly helped me to get
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Through the Federal Course you can learn
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AMAZING STORIES
May, 1932
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THE COLORS OF THE SPECTRUM —
WHAT COLOR SHOULD ULTRA-
VIOLET HAVE?
Editor, Amazing Stories:
I am a veteran reader and never fail to find
a good story in every copy. The following
are my opinions. I would like to know what
other readers think.
I am fairly sure that if we could see ultna-
violet (which some authors have described as
beautiful, but alasl too strange to describe),
we would find it is red in color. As you know,
the visible spectrum ranges from red to violet
vis follows: red, orange, yellow, green, blue,
indigo, and violet. Red and yellow mix to form
orange, yellow mixes with blue to form green,
and blue and red mix to form violet. You
notice that in the spectrum the primary colors
are alw'ays situated so that the secondary color
that results from their mingling is l^ween
them. What other color than red can be so
situated that its mingling with blue will pro-
duce violet?
There is one time-plot that has not been
used. In it the time travelers go into the fu-
ture, find that a catastrophe has taken place,
go back into the past and change the course
of events, and later go back into the future and
discover that they were successful, that the
terrible event never took place.
I hope you will print the “Skylarks’* in book
form with the original illustrations. Dr. Smith
is my favorite author. His first story, the
Skylark serial, was a great success, but I fear
that popular demand will force him to make
carbon copies of the original, or I should say
his initial success. I feel sure he could write
stories with a different plot and new charac-
ters with equal success.
I think the hero of “Awlo of Ulm” would
have crushed Ulm under his machine. I*d sug-
gest his going up in a plane before reducing his
size. Now how about the microscopic people?
They would be smaller than motes, and the
molecular action of the air would not permit
them to stay on the ground! They would be
carried high into the sky with the slightest
breeze, even if they were made of lead. The
particles of the air would be too large for them
to breathe. The story was a fantasy but might
have been more convincing, had these minor
details been considered.
Now as to invisibility. I believe that no-
body can be made invisible by the application
of ultraviolet colored paint, because ultraviolet
is simply black to us. Many things that are
black may be ultraviolet in color. They would
appear white in a photograph taken by ultra-
violet light.
I am sure an object can travel faster than
light. The object can’t contract any more
when its density is equal to that of neutronium.
Mr. Campbell made an error when he stated
in the discussions column that an object’s speed
could not increase any further when it had
attained infinite weight.
He forgot that although the body would have
attained infinite density at the speed of light,
at the same time it would have infinitesimal
mass (Volume). In other words, the weight
should remain constant.
Here is another idea for your authors.
Eliminate the inertia of the cosmic flyer and
our hero can attain infinite speed with negligible
power. Then he restores his inertia and the
ship will continue at its infinite speed, with no
further application of power. If he wants to
play safe, he will not restore the inertia; then
if he should collide with anything, there will
be no shock. The power required to eliminate
the inertia might be equal to the power neces-
sary to attain that speed without it, according
to Newton’s law on the conservation of energy.
Some writers conceive of time as being a
succession of still pictures which can be re-
viewed at will by the time traveler. Then,
be would see us, not as we see ourselves, but
as solid walls winding back and forth mingling
and crossing with other walls that are people
and vehicles in motion.
I enjoy the discussions just as much as the
rest of the magazine. I think the covers are
fine and I would like to explain to those who
complain about the six-armed fighting suits,
etc., that the purpose of the cover is not to
illustrate so much as to decorate. It is simply
more convenient for the artist to use one of
the stories of the month as a basis. As for
their performing the function of decoration, I’d
say, “They certainly do.”
Charles Schneeman,
1461 East 63rd Street,
Brooklyn, New York.
(You will have no trouble in finding out
what at l^st a proportion of our readers think
about things. It sometimes seems that in the
spectrum, colors -should be allowed to take care
of themselves. The unfortunate people of
Ulm have had much sympathy from writers in
our discussions columns. AU we can say is
that the “Awlo of Ulm’* is a mighty good storj!
and as you say, was a fantasy. — Editor.)
EVOLUTION AND HEREDITY. NEO-
DARROWISM — TELEPATHY. A
RATHER PROFOUND LETTER
Editor, Amazing Stories:
The letter by Charles Campbell in the March
Monthly quotes Dr. Hudson that evolution is
the result of an instinct for improvement (of
one’s offspring?). This is essentially the cause
suggested by Lamarck, though ■ he supplemented
it with inheritance of otherwise acquired charac-
ters. So far, no evidence has been adduced for
the first and very little for the second sug-
gestion.
While no positive statements may be made with
entire confidence from negative evidence, still it
may be called in to strengthen positive evi-
dence. So: Wc may safely say that all but
a negligible amount of ber^ity is passed on
through the chromosomes! thus the only way of
changing this heredity is by changing the
chromomeres (subdivisions of chomosomes— are
the Ontological carriers of the geneticists’s
‘genes’); and so far the only known method of
altering the chromomeres is by means of ion-
izing radiations (free electrons). Apparently
the impact of the electron causes a rearrange-
ment of the atoms in the exceedingly complex
molecule (or molecules) making up the chrom-
omere. X-rays are effective only to the extent
that they set up ionizing radiations and there
is some slight evidence that heat affects the
chromomeres, though its action is more limited as
perhaps only some of the molecules (com-
pounds) are affected by it.
The variations in heredity (mutations) are
thus dependent on chance and upon the differ-
ing resistance of the different compounds to
the radiations brought to bear upon them.
Once a mutation exists, however, its fate de-
pends upon its survival value: A trait with a
positive survival value tends to be extended to
a larger proportion of the population each
generation until it is possessed by all available
members of the species. (Thus geographical
species grow up.) Traits with neither postive
nor negative survival value spread more slow-
ly until half the population has them. Traits
with negative survival value (the *‘unfit“) tend
to decrease until none of the population ex-
hibit them. The trouble is that most undesir-
able traits are recessive (must be contributed
by both parents) and so have a pretty good
foothold before any individual shows them.
Recessive characters may be passed on by “car-
riers” who are not themselves affected, having
but a half-dose themselves.
The mutation and selection are the basic
theses in modern neo^Darwinism which is be-
yond Darwinism more than that was beyond
Lamarckianisni.
Since no work has been done with the harder
rays such as Taine uses in “Seeds of Life,’* no
one can say they would not have the effect he
postulates of altering the chromomeres to pro-
duce definite compounds and so definite results^
But these results due to lack of selection would
hardly lie in the exact course of future evolu-
tion, though the super-atavisms might be an-;
cestral forms. It is hardly likely that the rep-
tilian ancestors of either birds or mammals
were even as large as a cat, possibly as a mouse.
This may seem abstruse, but more abstruse
dissertations on physics and other sciences have
appeared in the Discussions,
Mr. Campbeirs remarks on telepathy are odd.
First, they are so dogmatic on a subject which
is probably less known than any other. For
one thing it is not at all certain that there is
any such thing as a *^soul.** Certainly very
few, if any persons, can communicate by tele-
pathy, but it may be just a very recent set of
mutations which has not as yet reached the
bulk of the population. As a means of com-
munication, it may still be in process of mak-
ing. It is reported that some one once re-
marked that if the Good Ixird had intended us
to be educated He’d have had us born educated.
Admittedly Mr. Hehr’s last sentence on Tung-
sten was misleading, but as 1 understand the
etymologies and as he seems to intend to say,
Wolframium ores are heavy stone which used
to cause much trouble to the miners and had
to be separated from the other ores. Hence the
German miners called it Wolfram. They might
May, 1932
AMAZING STORIES
189
tave called it raubef'-raum with the same sig-
nificance. The Swedish miners named it after
its high specific weight (W03=7.16; HoO^l).
But I don’t agree with him that anything can
resolve electrons into atoms.
*Tis only too true that certain items are
ignored by competent scientists with the res-
sults that they are pounced upon by feature-
writers and other professional imaginators, who
build up a body of “literature” which may or
may not point the wrong way, usually creates the
wrong impression, and is always lapped up by
the public, which is only too eager to get sugar-
coated pills of anything labeled SCIENCE.
And the larger the capitals, usually, the smaller
the science.
“A Voice Across the Years” was very good,
but some of the footnotes suggest that the
scientist wrote the text and the newspaperman
wrote the notes.
I would like to direct the attention of Eastbay
readers to the Eastbay Scientific Association, a
branch of the International Scientific Associ-
ation which was founded (as the Scientific Cor-
respondence Club) through the columns of this
magazine.
Clifton Amsbury,
Secretary-Treasurer,
Eastbay Scientific Association,
2216 Ward St.,
Berkeley, Calif.
(This is another letter which speaks for itself.
We are glad to get such letters as yours, whose
merit is shown in the fact that it really requires
no answer and no comments. Of course tele-
pathy is virtually unknown. That is to say,
that we practically know nothing about it and
are certainly free to doubt that there is any
such thing, but it fits pretty well in some of
the stories to give at least a theory, if a fic-
titious one, for the intercourse of strange be-
ings with different languages. We are sure
that your final paragraph will give you results.
As we have stated elsewhere, the various deriv-
ations of the word wolfram — as given by the
authorities — are very weak. We think that the
insertion of the “u” in the last syllable gets
some consistency out of a puzzling bit of ety-
mology. — Editor.)
A CHARMING LETTER FROM A YOUNG
GIRL
Editor, Amazing Stories:
I have been a reader of your magazine off
and on for the past two years. I say off and
on as I have not always been able to secure
copies, but ever since I picked up the July,
1930, copy, yours has been my favorite maga-
zine.
I am a young girl, only fifteen, but I have
always been interested in science, especially
archeology. Of all the stories I have read
in A. S., the ones I enjoyed the most are as
follows:
“Paradox -f,” by Charles Cloukey; “Ana-
chronism,” by Charles Cloukey; “A Message
from Space,” by David M. Speaker; “The Man
from the Moon,” by Otis Adalbert Kline;
“The Drums of Tapajos,” by Capt. S. P.
Meek; “The Purple Plague,” by Russell Hays;
“The Valley of Titans,” by L. A. Eshbach;
“Through the Vibrations,” by P. Schuyler
Miller; “Power,” by Harl Vincent; “Tumithak
of ^ the Corridors,” by Charles R. Tanner;
“Pirates of Space,” by B. X. Barry; “Luvium,”
by A. McKenzie; “The Stone from the Green
Star,” by Jack Williamson.
I think that Captain Meek is just about the
best author and the new sprial “Troyana” looks
just as good, if not better than, “Drums of
Tapajos,” and that’s saying something.
The February issue was pretty good and I
especially liked “The Heritage of the Earth.”
I like Morey’s illustrations, but for heaven’s
sake, what has become of Wesso and Paul, to
say nothing of some others.
In closing, I wish to state that Amazing
Stories is one grand magazine. Just keep up
the good w'orki
Jean Parker,
309 West 89th Street,
New York City
(Nothing pleases the Editor in. a higher
degree than a nice letter from a young girl and
here w’e have a fifteen year old young lady,
interested in science, who> gives us a list of
stories that have pleased her the most. It is
interesting to run over them and see the well
known names. Mr, Wesso, of whom you in-
quire, draws the illustrations in Amazing
Stories Quarterly and is doing excellent work.
— Editor.)
A LETTER ABOUT THE WRITERS OF
DISCUSSIONS. CAPTAIN MEEK’S
REJOINDER
Editor, Amazing Stories:
This is my second letter to you, and my object
is the same as my first, that is, to let off steam.
I have just finished the Discussions columns of
the March issue and I will say that I got sev-
eral good “laffs’' out of the letters.
Poor Mr, Branch. Two letters condemning
him, and then, to cap it all, Capt. Meek takes
one of his sarcasms and makes it into a compli-
ment to himself (Meek). I’m glad to see Capt.
Meek’s letter and more glad to see “Troyana,”
though I started reading it the wrong way. I
started the story in the first issue of the mag.
and now I’ve gone and read the second instal-
ment. Now I’ve got to wait a whole month to
finish it. Last summer I was sort of fed up
on scientifiction and didn’t read any of the
instalments of the “Spacehounds of IPC” until
I had all three. I believe the story went better
with me that way. “Spacehounds,” in my hum-
ble estimation was better than “Skylark Three.”
I haven’t read “Skylark of Space,” so I can’t
compare the three stories.
I believe the Discussions are one of the best
parts of the magazine, this is, outside the stor-
ies and Dr. Sloane’s editorials. Anyway, they’re
one of the best parts, and I read everything in
it and Taff,* groan, or curse, depending upon the
mood.
Speaking of the editorials, I think Dr. Sloanc
must have read my mind, for I had intended
writing to the Discussion columns to ask a
question, when he answered it in one of his
editorials. The one which stated that the
planets of the solar system He practically all
in one plane, there being only 4 degrees var-
iance in one of the planets, Mercury, I believe.
Here’s some likes and — dislikes: I think
Jack Williamson’s “Green Girl” the best I’ve
read of his. In “The Prince of Space,” I
don’t think the planet Mars could be destroyed
without wrecking the balance of the solar sys-
tem. Then “The Stone From the Green Star,”
I believe that a million years in the future the
human race (if there is any then) would have
evolved considerably from the present man. His
stories are plenty good, though.
I’d like to see more of Schuyler Miller’s
work in A. S. I liked his *‘The Arrhenius
Horror.” “Cleon of Yrdzal” left me wondering
what it was all about, as I read it somewhat
hastily. Sometime when I feel strong and
courageous, I’m going to re-read it, slowly.
Ronald Miller,
South English, Iowa.
(We are always glad to hear that a reader
considers the “Discussions” the best part of
the magazine. It is interesting to see how they
affect you, for there certainly is a great variety
in the letters. — Editor.)
THE FEBRUARY ISSUE
Editor, Amazing Stories:
The February issue was a knock-out. Before
I go further I must compliment you on the
excellence of Morey’s cover illustration. It
looked almost like one of Paul’s covers. The
green on the top of the picture was grand. I am
glad to see six stories in the issue. “Troyana”
was fine and getting better as it neared the end.
I think the authors of late are harping too much
on classes of the future and the colors they wear
(Wearers of the Blue, Black Robes, Wearers of
the Purple, the Gray-clad workers, etc.). The
Keller story, as usual, was good. I’m getting
so used to Keller’s O. Henry endings that I could
guess what the end would be like. “The Sages
of Eros” was not so good, but readable. “The
Racketeer Ray” was a departure from the usual
variety of stories, and I consider it good. Mur-
ray Leinster’s stories are always very interest-
ing. ^ Neil R. Jones’ narrative was great. I
consider him your best author. Certainly this
story bears out my thinking he is. There was
plenty of action, and Prof. Jameson was in
novel adventures. The theory of creatures in
a different plane is quite plausible. “The Heri-
tage of the Earth” was good literature. The
editorial, “The Brownian Movement” was very
interesting.
Louis Adessa,
18710 Wyoming Avenue,
Hollis, New York
(It is a pleasure at last to find Morey’s work
on the covers appreciated. He is constantly
doing better work. It requires considerable ex-
perience to get a cover perfect as regards color
contrasts. He is making great developments in
that line. And in the opinion of many, Morey's
covers are superior to Paul’s— artistically, cer-
tainly. — Editor.)
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WRITERS OF SONGS — Poems, Melodies, Op-
portunity. RG1616 North Harding, (Chicago.
May, 1932
THE STEAM-HEATER DISPROVES '1
YOUR THEORY ^
Editor, Amazing Stories: \
To begin with, you claim your mag to be J
exclusively devoted to scientifiction. That is
all well and good, if lived up to. But it seems ^
that many of your stories are on a par with I
mere “adventure” tales to which' other mags ^
are attending. Take, for instance, “The Amir’s
Magic,” by A. H. Johnson, in your March, -
1932, edition. Will you please point out for •
my benefit any real science in that? ;
And now I would like to take the liberty ^
to expostulate on a pet theory of mine. It is
this : if a man were placed in a shadow in in- %
tcrplanetary or inter-stellar space and provided l
with an adequate oxygen supply, he would not -J
freeze. For it seems to me that the only ;<
method by which heat can be lost is by con- -4
duction by a physical body. Now someone will .a
say, “How about the radiation of heat, such as S
by the sun?” I believe that the light particles, J|
the electrons, conduct the heat. Thus if a manV
were placed in shadow, there would be no light
electrons emanating from him, and so there: j
would be no way for the heat of his body to
escape. The electrons mentioned would, of '
course, be in light reflected from his being. ^ .
If that theory is a base impossibility, please >
be so kind as to let me know, and patiently
point out why.
Richard W. Haysen,
4152 N. Kildare Avenue,
Chicago, 111.
(We are pleased to print your theory about ;
the effect of space on temperature. Do you not
think that you are giving electrons a role which
they cannot be supposed to carry out? Cer-
tainly a body can radiate heat without radiating
light. Every steam-beater does this. Would
not the steam-heater placed in shadow radiate
heat? We could hardly suppose that electrons
are conductors of heat. We doubt if your
theory will hold water. — Editor.)
A SUGGESTION FROM A READER— OUR
STORIES ARE TOO ENGROSSING
Editor, Amazing Stories:
There is one suggestion I would like to make
toward the betterment of your magazine. When
I start to read one of the stories therein con-
tained, I become oblivious to my environment,
including the dinner bell and curfew. Why
not follow the idea in “Liberty” and put, at the
beginning of each story, the time it takes to
read the story?
Then not only I, but other readers could
time themselves and start a story so as to fin-
ish just in time for dinner, or, as the case may
be, supper or bedtime. Do you see my point?
Recently I believed your magazine was de-
clining. But along came “Spacehounds of
I.P.C.” like a nova in the firmament of your
story matter and entirely chased this belief
from me. I feared that the “mag” would lag
after so brilliant a story, but “The Stone from
the Green Star” by the author, who ranks with
Smith and Campbell and Vincent raised the
magazine higher than before. My old fears
drew nigh as this serial concluded. For a
month I held my breath in suspense, fearing
the worst. But the “Inevitable Conflict” makes
the January issue complete. “Power” is un-
doubtedly Vincent’s best. I did not care for^
“Pygmalion,” as somehow or other the failure
of such an experiment, after ten years of work, .
did not appeal to me, but of course, I knew,
the failure was inevitable, since as far back as
Lozzaro Spallanzani matter was proved to be
incapable of producing life. The Vegetative
Force was proved to be a lot of humbug by this
persistent Italian scientist.
When I first read “Drums of Tapajos,” by
Captain S. P. Meek, U. S. A., I did not like
it. I believe I allowed prejudice to rule against
this story since some earlier works by the same
author had turned me against his pen. How-
ever, upon reading the story a second time, I
realized its true greatness and now look forward
to reading its sequel which is now on the news-
stands.
I 'detected a mistake on the cover of the De-
cember issue. The bombs from the planes are
actually falling ahead of the plane as they fall;
a condition which cannot be. What has hap-
pened to your artist?
Charles W. Norris,
7040 Parnell Avenue,
Chicago, Illinois
(IsnH it rather a triumph for us to feel one
of our stories may bring you late to dinner, or
keep you up until one o’clock in the morning.
We get lots of novas in the firmament of our
May, 1932
magazine. I wonder if you have noticed that
our old favorite writers keep supplying us with
stories. We refer to such authors as Dr. Keller,
Dr. Breuer, Capt. Meek and many others. Harl
Vincent is a favorite with us, even if be is
fond of the pugilistic blow on the chin of an
adversary. We are glad tliat you have con*
eluded that you like the “Drums of Tapajos,**
the sequel is extremely good too. — Editor.)
A LETTER FROM A CHEMICAL
STUDENT
Editor, Amazing Stories:
It has been some time since I have graced
you by my correspondence.
I am taking the pleasure of dropping you
a line or more, so as to inform you I am still
scrutinizing the scientific periodicals in search
of profound interest, in matters that may ele-
vate my knowledge to a more advanced degree.
In recent issues of Amazing Stories Mag-
azine, I delighted in your chronology on “The
Brownian Movement’* (Feb. edition).
The March edition of the same magazine,
caught me aghast, on looking to the editorial
page, entitled “The Beginning of Chemistry,”
there I saw an answer to one of my first lessons
about the candle, “the loss in weight” after-
burning and why. While on the subject of
chemistry, I must say I had poor luck in ob-
taining what I wanted; I could not get into
the chemical laboratories, at Edgewood Arsenal,
at Edgewood, Maryland, the only reason for
it, as far as I can say is, that probably I
did not have the support I should have had,
unless I had carried the affair to extremes.
At any rate I am still devoted to matters
that pertain only to chemistry. I will not give
up nosing into my books or other books con-
taining articles on chemistry, some day I may
accomplish a -deed; all I need is practical ex-
perience, I’ll continue on, with the hope that
my time in the future will come.
On closing my letter, I will say I greatly
enjoy reading your articles, as they are very
substantial.
Cornelius Malley,
P. O. Box 317,
Aberdeen, Maryland
(Some of these days we may have the plea-
sure of hearing of some of your achievements
in the chemical work of the government. It
would be a personal delight to us to know that
this had taken place. — Editor.)
A NICE GOSSIPING LETTER ABOUT
AMAZING STORIES AND ITS CRITICS
Editor, Amazing Stories:
I have finished reading your latest issue, the
March. Say, that cover’s a pip. The best
one I’ve seen since the January, 1931 issue. It
really looks “Amazing 1”
Next I turned to your Editorial on “The Be-
ginning of Chemistry.” I like your editorials
immensely, because they are instructive as well
as interesting. Once in a while you repeat
yourself, but not often 1
Concerning “The Cities of Ardathia”; is this
story a sequel to the “Machine-men of
Ardathia?” If it is, he made many mistakes
in the syncronization of the two stories, never-
theless I liked the story. I was rather sur-
prised when Jan didn’t succeed in freeing the
Unlings; the hero usually succeeds in doing
whatever he wishes. The transformation of
Rocca, the villain, was startling:
I was rather surprised at a discrepancy in
“The Amir’s Magic.” The author states that
the bee stung the horse and then returned to
the Assassin Chief. I was always sure that
a bee’s stinger is barbed, and when a bee stings
an enemy the barbs stick in its flesh, causing
the stinger to be withdrawn from the body of
the bee, killing the bee. Now, I wonder
whether the author had the bee return to the
Amir for effect 1
I liked the “Amir’s Magic” because it was
interestingly written and full of action.
“The Light from Infinity” was inspiring.
The author states that according to the theory
one second of the Supra-world’s time would be
equal to a 1,000,000,000 of earth-time, the
captives remain in the Supra-world for almost a
half hour, but when they return to Luna only
a few weeks earth-time has elapsed? Why?
Naturally the writer had to save the earth, but
why at the cost of his theory?
Tell Captain S. P. Meek that I’m enjoying
“Troyana.” Will you also ask him if there is
not another lost-civilization beneath that of
the Atlanteans. I think it would be rather
simple to write another story, and to have the
AMAZING STORIES
lost-civilization of Mu found beneath that of the
Atlanteans. The fact of two highly progressive
civilizations settled in one place, one on top
of the other without finding any trace of the
other is rather — shall I say unbelievable. Any-
how, I’m enjoying his tale.
The “Lemurian Documents” are interesting.
Will you ask Burtt to write enough of them to
supply at least one a month for the next thou-
sand years ? Please.
I have the same opinion as Mr. Ackerman on
the short story question.
As yet, I haven’t read “The Degravitator”
but I hope to.
I think many of the letters are interesting,
still more highly amusing, and others absolutely
temper-raising.
In looking over the book reviews by Brandt
and yourself I noticed the story “Tarzan the
Invincible.” Since I am a “Tarzan Fan,” I
was interested immediately . I have not read
that story yet, but I will as soon as I get a
chance.
James McCrae,
7024 Vandyke Street,
Philadelphia, Penna.
(To carry out the sequence of scientific edi-
torials, repetition may be unavoidable. The
effort in the few chemical editorials which we
have given has been to picture practical work-
ing chemistry rather than the modern studies
of the atom. About Jan and the Unlings, we
can only say that in this bad world heroes too
often fail in their efforts at improving the
state of humanity. The Amir’s bee, we sup-
pose, should really have lost his sting. You
also find fault with the “Light from Infinity.”
The “Lemurian Documents” are more or less
an innovation and have been very highly ap-
preciated. — Editor. )
WRITERS! ATTENTION!
Editor, Amazing Stories:
I have been following, with much interest,
the stories in your magazine and believe you
are pioneering in a new field of Literature or
of Science and Literature of very great promise
and I should like to help “the good work along.”
Many years ago, when quite a young man,
a student of Science and the Arts of Construc-
tion, I was captured and fascinated by the
stories of Jules Verne — the most broadly en-
tertaining writer that the world has ever
known. But — I was not reading for enter-
tainment alone; I was in pursuit of knowledge
as well — and — I found it there, that clear, pre-
cise knowledge we call, Scientific, and the
more I studied the facts, the more I became
convinced that they went beyond the grasp of a
student and writer of fiction.
It required several years of study and in-
vestigation to develop the fact, that the great
amount of clear, positive and accurate scien-
tific knowledge contained in “Twenty Thousand
Leagues Under the Sea” was furnished by
Robert Fulton, who, besides building the first
Steamboat, Claremont, in this country, built
and operated a submarine for the French Gov-
ernment and operated it against the English
Fleet off the coast of France.
And what has this to do with Amazing
Stories?
Well, the writer of this letter has spent a
lifetime in contact with and directing Engin-
eering Construction, much of which has been
on the outer edge or firing line of Human
Progress and I have been privileged to look
into “The Future” and I feel sure that if
some of these “Glimpses of the Future” were
translated into that “Marvel of the Ages Pic-
ture Language,” by which all men even the
blind are made to see; then I believe there
would be something more than a possibility
that you might fnd another Jules Verne,
As regards any cold facts that would pos-
sibly warrant the writer in assuming that
he might possibly play the obscure part of R.
Fulton, I might submit that when in the
World’s War the “Menace of the Submarine”
became of supreme importance; our Government
appointed two outstanding Engineers to meet
the situation and thm asked them to pick a
third, and they picked me.
In the same spirit, for the “Entertainment and
Progress of Humanity” might I request you to
refer me to one of your contributing writers
with whom I could discuss this subject.
William T. Donnelly,
112 Iden Avenue,
Pdham Manor, N. Y.
(This letter is a tribute to Robert Fulton.
We have always felt that Jules Verne was
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AMAZING STORIES
May, 1932
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original in his description of the Nautillus, but
still it may be perfectly fair to give some of
the credit to Robert Fulton for what Jules
Verne put into and utilized in his “Twenty
Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.” As re-
gards referring you to one of our writers, we
think your letter will speak for itself and will
excite the interest of some of our friends. You
will notice that we give their names and ad-
dresses always so perhaps you can pick out
one who will meet your ideas. Remember, also,
that Jules Verne drove his boat by electricity—
Fulton used man-power. — Editor.)
A STRANGE LETTER FROM A READER
Editor, Amazing Stories:
Kindly, if you print this or any other letters
of mine, do not give ray full address. Initials
and town are enough. Now to your criticism:
Wolfram IS derived from Wolf-Raum, mean-
ing a “Raum” which robs the miner of time
and power. In the mines where the name
originated, the Lead and Silver lodes are
rather thin veins bedded in veins of Wolfram
ore. To get at that ore the miner had to take
out the Wolfram ore too, which, owing to its
heaviness and hardness was a nuisance. And
even today in German and English a nuisance
is often termed Wolf, “Wolf at the door.”
The same way Wolfram ore was termed by the
Swedish miner, Tung-Sten as he encountered
it in the same way as his German colleague.
If the authorities differ from me . . . well, I’m
sorry for them because they are wrong. Which
ought to be nothing new to them, as in my expe-
rience they have been more wrong than right.
Now to that Bohuslan story. Which is not
a book, but a number of caves in granite filled
with remarkable stone carvings giving a record
covering a time from the beginning of the
Christian era to about 200,000 years B.C.
Records so full of dated maps, stories of dis-
coveries and odysses and general history, pro-
fusely illustrated and dated by Star pictures.
As this is not a fake like those French
archeological discoveries, the fact of its ignor-
ing is a severe criticism of the English and
Latin Language “scientists.”
Now to the Indian records of Space-Travel.
There are stories in the mythology of every old
civilization of visitors from space which came
to put our budding humanity on its feet, who
ruled as divine kings and taught all the arts
and crafts to the best fitted — ^who built the
Cyclopean structures still to be found on the
sites of the old civilizations, buildings which
even today we could scarcely duplicate, who
amongst other things brought Wheat to Earth.
Only in India are records still in existence in
sacred libraries and Priests are still able to
read them, Priests whose tradition goes back
for more than four sidereal years or 150,000
common calendar years.
J. Lewis Burtt is to be congratulated for his
utilization of ancient folklore. Those stories
have been polished for thousands of generations
and so, even if no grain of truth should be in
them, they ought to be superior to recent in-
ventions. But there usually is a grain of truth
at the bottom. The other stories are well worth
reading.
F. G. H„
Sayville, L. I.
(The derivation of the word “wolfram” as
given by the various authorities has always
seemed extremely unsatisfactory to us. Your
derivation, by inserting the letter “u” injects
sense into the derivation, taking raum as space
or perhaps a vein even. It is interesting to see
what a revolution the obnoxious “Wolf’s cham-
ber” has made in the metallurgy of steel. We
leave the rest of your letter to speak for itself.
It is very interesting, — Editor.)
A NICE LETTER, AND WELL WRITTEN,
FROM A YOUNG READER
Editor, Amazing Stories:
Upon looking in “Discussions” I saw letters
from several boys of my own age, so I took the
privilege of writing to you myself. One night
a little over a year ago I went around to the
Stationery Store because I had nothing to read
and I was hoping to get a good magazine. At
last I found one with a most interesting cover,
a one-eyed man fleeing from a green sphere. I
bought it and ran home as fast as I could and
read one story in the magazine. The magazine
was Amazing Stories and I decided it was the
best magazine to be found. Since then I have
purchased it nearly every month.
The thing that persuaded me to write was
B, J. K.’s letter in the October issue. In it
he said that the covers on the first issues of
A. S. were much better than the present covers.
I think he is very much mistaken. A friend
of mine has back numbers of A. S. from 1927
and when I saw the colored Illustrations I I
bad never seen such an improvement in maga-
zine covers. The covers of the 1927-1928 issues
could never be put in the class that the present
covers are in. The cover on the October issue
of 1931 is unusually well done. It is so real
that you think you are beside the space-ship. I
compliment Leo Morey on his good work.
Now I want to tell you the stories I liked
very much. “Skylark Three” — very good.
“Spacehounds of IPC” — very good. “Raid of
the Murcury” — “Superman” — good- “The
Burning Swamp” — very gooil; ought to have a
sequel. “Submicroscopic” — “Awlo of Ulm”—
very good — more stories by this author would
be given a hearty welcome. “Stone from the
Green Star” — good so far. “The Jameson
Satellite” — was particularly good. Don’t you
think it would 1^ good to have a sequel con-
taining the adventures of Prof. Jameson amcjng
the Machine Men of Zor?
Victor M, Turner,
604 West IHth St.,
New York City, N. Y.
(Despite the many unfavorable letters which
we have recently published in the Discussions
Columns, there have been numerous commen-
datory ones which we have received. We are
glad you think our covers have improved since
1927. Soon we hope to comply with the con-
sistent demands of many of our older and more
senstive, or shall vfe say, fastidious readers,
and make still further improvements. Watch
for them. — Editor.)
THE FEBRUARY ISSUE, AUTHORS
AND ARTISTS
Editor, Amazing Stories:
The February issue of Amazing Stories is
the best number you have published for some
months.
“Troyana,” by Capt. S. P. Meek is a story
I have been waiting for ever since "The Drums
of Tapajos” was published. The first part was
excellent and 1 am impatiently awaiting the
forthcoming instalments.
Murray Leinster has always been a favorite
of mine. He is exceptionally good at science-
mystery stories as shown by “The Racketeer
Ray” and others.
You are right. “The Planet of the Double
Sun” is better than the original story. The
ending leaves an opening for another sequel.
Possibly Professor Jameson can, in some way,
come in contact with humans again, and once
more have a flesh and blood body.
“The Sages of Eros,” by a new author was
a very good interplanetary adventure story.
I hope that Harlen S. Aldinger will continue
to write stories for our magazine as interesting
as “The Heritage of the Earth.”
I have no comment to make on “The Pent
House.” I wish Dr. Keller could have a story
in every issue of Amazing Stories.
I suppose you expect me to jump on Morey’s
illustrations again. You will probably be sur-
prised to know that I liked them. Morey can
be good at times, also just the opposite. His
cover on the February issue was more colorful
than is usually the case. Colorful covers attract
the eye.
Amazing Stories discovered Weaso as a
science-fiction artist. Wesso is very popular
as such. Since you seem to like Wesso your-
self, why do you not let him do more illustrating
for the monthly? At least a cover every other
month besides drawings?
Jack Darrow,
4225 N. Spaulding Avenue,
Chicago, 111.
(In our opinion the names of the authors
of the stories in our February issue, tell what
it is. Captain Meeks’ sequel to his “Drums of
Tapajos,” we feel, is extremely good and quite
fills the bill. We will see what will happen to
Prof. Jameson; you seem to suggest the pro-
priety of a sequel, which we hope will come,
A good artist is always supposed to be tempera-
mental and his work is liable, therefore, to
vary in merit, but we feel that Morey is con-
stantly doing better and better science-fiction
illustrations. His ability as an artist is un-
questionable it seems to us.— Editor.)
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We are not over enthusiastic when we tell you that to easily sell up to five FITZALL seat covers a day is a rinch. Think
this over for a second. Can you do it? Of course you can and there's the answer — $10.00 a day protil. Of course the more you
sell the more you make. We have made everything easy for you to earn. Write for more particulars today, or better still,
get started earning at once by sending for sample, order pads, selling hints, etc. Do not send any money now. Mark x in
coupon. We ship by return mail. We allow you special agent's price of $3.00 right off the bat. Pay postman $3.00, plus
postage. (If you prefer to send cash with order, you may do so and save the postage.)
OFFER NO. 2 — Send us $2.00 and we will send miniature seat cover with FITZALL adjustable seat covers, order blanks, etc.
It is easy to take orders when showing the mlnuture demonstrator Tour $2.00 is onlj a deposit. It is refunded to you after
you send in 12 orders or more or any time you return the demonstrator.
OFFER NO. 3 — A full set of FITZALL seat covers which is for the front and back seat of any car. the miniature demon-
strator, order blanks, etc. $.5.00. ($2.00 of this amount is refunded the same as in offer No. 2.) Get started! Act! Rush coupon,
today — NOW!
NOTE;— When ordering, mention if sample is for TUDOR or SEDAN model.
^emomtratinq [
Sampte^l(ir '
Here’s the miniature demonstrat-
ing sample which we believe
every agent should carry. It
shows in a jiffy just how
FITZALL adjustable seat
covers fit. It quickly
shows how easy they are
to put on or take off.
It makes your sales
easier and quicker and
naturally your profits are greater. Given free
according to our offer No. 2 and No. 3 explained
in this advertisement. Pick your plan and rush coupon
today.
SAWYER SPECIALTIES CO., INC.
Dept. 105 1775 Broadway, New York
SAWYER SPECIALTIES CO., Inc.
Dept. 105, 1775 Broadway, New York.
I want to share the profits with you on FITZALL adjustable seat
covers. I accept the proposition checked below with the understanding
that I can return whatever I select if dissatisfied and you will refund
my money in full. I will pay postman agent’s price, plus postage, on
arrival.
□ No. 1 — 1 set of FITZALL adjustable seat covers, order blanks, etc.,
special agent’s price $3.00.
Q No. 2 — 1 miniature demonstrator, order blanks, etc. ($2.00 to be
refunded after you receive 12 paid-up orders) — deposit $2.00.
□ No. 3 — Full set of FITZALL seat covers, miniature demonstrator,
order blanks, etc. ($2.00 of this amount to be refunded same
as in offer No. 2) — $5.00.
Q No, 4 — I want additional information before taking up your proposi-
tion.
Name
Street
City State
Will You Get
Cash or Sympathy
in the event of
ACCIDENT OR SICKNESS?
You can now
protect
yourself and
family
under a lim-
ited coverage
policy —
Today Happiness — Tomorrow What?
for only
»io
a year
Read This News Item
New Form of Insurance
Sweeps Country !
Stated Accidents and Sickness
Covered — Cost Only
$10 a Year
Newark, N. J.^ — A new type of
protection covering both Acci-
dents and Sickness at a cost of less
than 3 cents a day has been announced
by the North American Accident In-
surance Company with offices at 227
Wallach Building, Newark, New Jer-
sey.
Men and women between the ages of
16 and 70 are eligible. No medical
examination is required. The sum of
$10,000 is paid for stated accidental
death, $10,000 for loss of hands, feet
or eyesight and $25.00 weekly benefit
for stated accidents or sickness. Doc-
tor’s Bills, Hospital Benefit, Emer-
gency Benefit, and other liberal fea-
tures to help in time of need — all
clearly shown in policy.
Free booklet entitled “Cash or Sym-
pathy,” explains this amazing, $10.00
a year policy. Write for your FREE
copy today to the North American
Accident Insurance Co . 227 Wallach
Building, Newark, N. J.
For less than 3c a day you can protect
those near and dear to you!
S uppose you meet with an accident or sick-
ness tonight — will your income continue?
Remember, few escape without accident —
and none of us can tell what tomorrow holds
for us. while you are reading this warning,
somewhere some ghastly tragedy, flood or fire,
some automobile or train disaster is taking its
toll of human life or limb.
NOW IS THE TIME TO
PROTECT YOURSELF!
If you suddenly become ill — ^would your in-
come stop? What if you suffered from lobar
pneumonia, an appendicitis operation, or any
of the many common ills which are covered in
this unusual policy; wouldn’t you rest easier
and convalesce more quickly if you knew that
our company stood ready to help lift from your
shoulders the distressing financial burdens in
case of a personal tragedy? Protect yourself
Now!
■ Some of the feature
of this policy
No Medical Examination
$10 A Year Entire Cost
No Dues# No Assessments
MEN AND WOMEN
16 to 70 Years Accepted
$10,000
Principal Sum
$ 10,000
Loss of hands, feet or eyesight
$25 Weekly Benefits
for stated accidents or
sickness
Doctor's Bills. Hospital Benefits. Emergency
Benefit ami other liberal features to help in
lime of aieed — all clearly shown in policy.
This is a simple and understandable policy
— without complicated or misleading clauses.
You know exactly what ever.v word means—
and every word means exactly what it says.
A sudden accident! A sudden sickness!
Can you say neither will happen to you?
MAIL COUPON TODAY!
FOR YOUR COPY OF OUR FREE BOOKLET
Then don’t delay another day. Protect yourself by insuring
in the largest and oldest exclusive accident insurance com-
pany in America. Send the coupon NOW for complete infor-
mation about our new limited $10,000 Accident and Sickness
Policy.
Under Direct Supervision of 48 State Insurance Departments.
Largest and Oldest Exclusive Health and Accident
Insurance Company in America
ESTABLISHED OVER 45 YEARS
NORTH AMERICAN ACCIDENT INSURANCE CO. OF CHICAGO
227 Wallach Building, Newark, New Jersey
AGENTS wanted for New Territory
“Cash or Sympathy”
North American Accident Insurance Co.,
227 Wallach Building, Newark, New Jersey,
GENTLEMEN : At no cost to me send copy of your FREE booklet
“Cash or Sympathy.”
Name
Address
I City State
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